The Lover and the Liar
by BlueMarrow
Summary: Booth and Brennan lead the team in an investigation that will change the lives of all of them forever. Spoilers for all episodes to date, but not beyond
1. Chapter 1

_{This is my very first fanfic ever *hides from scathing reviews* so be patient with me. Hopefully the updating will be speedy and I'll be able to get the rest of the chapters up before you die of anticipation. The worst thing ever is an unfinished fic. Anyway, sit back, relax, and enjoy!}_

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"Madam Foreperson of the Jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"We have your honor. We find the defendant, Kent Ronald Herbert, _guilty_ of one count of murder in the first degree."

The word rang out like the toll of a great bell, reverberating off those proud, solemn walls and settling with all their crushing weight. The defendant, with his cold eyes, slumped in his seat and ground his teeth together.

Anyone who had been in that courtroom the last few days could not have been surprised. There was no question in anyone's mind that the man was completely guilty. The jury was out for less than thirty minutes. The only question anyone considered was how on the earth the DA had not gotten him to agree to a plea bargain before his doomed trial. The evidence was completely, unbelievably overwhelming.

Very few actually paid attention to the rest of the proceedings. Two people sitting behind the prosecution turned and gave one another smug smiles. They were the two least surprised by the verdict of all, because they were the two responsible for it.

"Way to pull through," sighed the DA, standing once the judge had gone and the courtroom dissembled into lingering chaos. She turned and looked at the pair behind her, making it clear she was addressing them. "Beats me if I can figure out how y'all do it, but somehow the brawn and the brains always gets me the verdict I want."

"Thanks Caroline," said Booth, grinning. "You were great."

"The jury seemed to respond well to you," Brennan offered.

"What they _liked_," corrected the tough Cajun DA, "Was your irrefutable evidence, cherie."

Booth shrugged. "Well, either way we nailed another one, didn't we? The world is one psycho safer."

A colleague came over and Caroline dismissed the partners almost immediately to speak to him. Brennan glanced up at Booth with a satisfied expression. "We did good today."

"Yes we did." He put a hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the room. "Care for a celebratory drink?"

"At three in the afternoon?" her tone was skeptical.

He was unperturbed. "Or maybe some food at the diner."

"I'd like that."

They filed past the people still hovering in the courtroom, discussing the verdict, lacing their phrases with their own personal revulsion at the depravity of the newly convicted murderer. The common people were shocked by the nature of the crimes, horrified that anyone could become so twisted. They could not comprehend, could not reconcile it in their minds. It seemed impossible. It made stomachs churn and tears spring to the eyes. It made hearts seethe with anger.

Was it a mark of desensitization that the pair moving through them to the exit did not exhibit any similar emotions? Was it a sign of inner corruption themselves? Unfortunately, their excuse was much more tragic. They were not surprised or horrified by the deeds of Kent Herbert. They were not shaken to the core, because they had dealt with his kind countless times before, and would deal with many more even worse than he. This was their grisly quest, to protect the vulnerable, repulsed people of society who were outraged by these travesties, to preserve that same sense of outrage for them. They paid the highest cost, trudging through the murky, polluted waters of the worst of criminals. They were jaded; they could not feel the same reaction as the innocent people did. But it had to be that way. Each would lose their minds if every case had them on their knees in anguish over the horrors committed. They had to cope, had to investigate without taking it into their hearts, prevent it from affecting them any more than it had to.

So when the partners spoke rather lightly about what they might order when they arrived at their preferred diner, it wasn't because they thought so little of the situation. Rather, it was because they _had_ to act as if it were nothing, because otherwise it would be impossible to go on. Besides, they chose to focus on the victory. This man was gone away now, most certainly for life, and his atrocities could not be committed again.

The only real discomfort felt by either of them was on the part of the anthropologist. She found it disconcerting to be walking out of the courthouse without her team in tow. Granted, she'd testified in many a case by herself, but more often than not, her collection of brilliant minds would be called upon as expert witnesses to report on their individual findings in an investigation. She always felt a glow of pride when they came together as a team to successfully close a case like that, in front of a jury, watching the sick hope drain from the suspect's face.

Not today. Her team wasn't needed today. The evidence was straightforward and, as Caroline said, irrefutable. So many expert witnesses weren't needed. Only herself to explain the forensics, and her partner to explain the investigation.

"I like it better when they just confess and we don't have to go through big show of a trail," he mused aloud as he opened the door for her to his car.

It surprised her mildly that his train of thought would be along a similar line as hers, though she was _not_ surprised that he felt quite differently than she. "Yes, it is simpler that way. But I disagree. I sort of like the feeling of staring the killer down while you tell the whole room exactly why he is completely guilty."

"That's nice, Bones. Get a little revenge for the victims, I guess." He didn't make it sound like a compliment. He shut her door after she climbed in and went to the other side.

"I find that sometimes when they confess to us, they get emotional and remorseful," she continued. "In that situation, it feels so much more tragic. When they deny it and insist on a trial, I am able to justify hating them and abhorring their acts."

"Sweets would probably have something to say about that." Booth pulled out of the parking structure and out onto the road. He dropped his sunglasses down over his eyes, stretching out his arms when they pulled up to a light.

Brennan made a soft noise of disgust and looked away. "Psychology," she scoffed very softly.

"I thought you were warming up to the kid." Booth glanced over at her. She couldn't see his eyes but his half-cocked eyebrow and his crooked grin was all the expression she needed.

"I have come to value his insight a little more, since past cases have proven him to be useful. And I admit he has helped us when we've fought more and been less functional. However, I'm not ready to admit psychology is a real science and I'm certainly glad we're no longer going to partner's therapy."

"Me too, Bones," Booth agreed quickly. "Very glad. Though we're still being studied like lab rats, so I don't know how different it really is."

"Sweet's observations of us should be through. His book is done."

The agent shifted uncomfortably in his seat, rounding the corner to the diner. "I wonder what he's said about us in it."

"I imagine it remarks on the nature of dysfunctional partnerships." Her tone was thoughtful, matter of fact, not pausing to consider other interpretations of the words.

"Dysfunctional?" Booth said in dismay. He turned off the ignition. "We aren't dysfunctional! Look what we just accomplished today! Do you really think we're dysfunctional?"

Brennan grinned a little. "I don't, of course. I can see why Sweets might think so. He can't ever get us to stay on topic when he tries to talk to us about something."

"Well that's because he wants us to talk about some pretty stupid stuff," Booth grumbled. "That doesn't mean we're dysfunctional. If he puts anything like that in his book, I'm going to kill the kid."

"Go easy on him. I suspect he'll let us read it before he publishes. That is the courteous thing to do, anyway."

While he let her out of the car, Booth took a moment to internalize this notion. He tried not to allow himself to be too curious about their young psychologist's book. Truthfully, he was afraid of what they would find inside it. For almost three years now Sweet's had had the opportunity to observe them, both in a therapeutic setting and in their work performance. He had an uncanny, even uncomfortable knack for detecting falsehoods, just as Booth himself had remarkable intuition for truths. He'd always joked that Sweets was a walking lie detector, but there was merit to the joke and he was uneasy about what truths Sweets might have ferreted out and made public in his book.

He secretly hoped Sweets would not give it to them, would not let him, or mostly _her_, read it.

"How come we never eat at Sid's anymore?" Brennan asked as they headed in the door.

"Sid's closed a couple years ago, remember?" Booth gave her an odd look. Usually she was impeccable at remembering these things. "He went off traveling and gave up the place."

"I had forgotten."

"What makes you ask?"

She shrugged. They headed to their usual table. "I don't know what I'd like to get today. I'm in the mood to have someone just know, the way Sid used to do."

"No man is brave enough to try, Bones, including me," he chuckled. "Sid's unnatural talent isn't found anywhere else, and I'm not about to risk ordering you the wrong thing."

"Come on Booth. Surely after five years of working together you can get a decent read on what I generally like, right?" She asked, big silver-green eyes growing wide with expectancy. "I think you should try. If I don't like it, I'll pay for it and order something else."

"No way, then I'm going to feel guilty for ordering you the wrong thing and it's going to sow seeds of doubt in both our minds that I don't really know you that well and we'll both be secretly disappointed in me – nope. No way. It's a trap. One of those girly traps women like to set for men, like sick tests that no one can win."

Her face grew increasingly astonished, and more than a little amused. "I have no idea what you mean," she laughed. "Sometimes I think you're speaking a different language."

"Believe me, Bones, I get that feeling from you all the time." He flipped open the menu and fell quiet as he began perusing.

She toyed with the corner of hers, trying to decide whether to press the matter further to see if she could get him to order for her. "You know I wont get upset if you don't happen to know what food I'm in the mood for. That sounds like psychology, and you know how much credit I give psychology."

"Just pick something," he replied, glancing up from his menu to give her a look.

She chuckled again and surrendered. They'd been to the diner so many times they really shouldn't even need menus, but it had been a different kind of day for them so she was grateful for the refresh.

"Parker wants to come over to swim tonight, are you alright with that?"

Brennan looked up, mildly surprised. "Of course. I don't have to give you my permission. I already gave you the key."

"I know, but I had ulterior motives." He gave her a shameless grin. "What are your plans tonight?"

She couldn't help but be intrigued. "Ange wanted me to go get drinks with her this evening, but I can reschedule. Why?"

"Well, Pops called. He wants to take us all out to dinner. He specifically asked that you be there. I wondered if we could come over and swim, and then maybe Parker can clean up at your place before we all go eat."

The waitress appeared at their table, already scribbling down their usual drink orders. "What are you having today, honey?" she asked Brennan.

The anthropologist set down her menu. "The Caprisi Salad, please."

"What?" Booth wrinkled his nose. "After a morning like we've had, you want a salad? No way, go with the croissant you like. That has a little more to it than a measly salad."

Brennan gave him an odd look. "Okay."

"The BLTA Croissant, then?" the waitress asked patiently. She was familiar with how distracted these regulars could get while trying to order.

"Yeah, get her that. I'll have the Cali Club." Booth handed her both menus and looked back at his partner. "So? Are you in for dinner?"

"Yes," she said with a smile, leaning forward a little. "I've been looking forward to seeing Hank again."

Booth grinned widely, perhaps revealing his pleasure in her agreement a little too much. "Yeah, he really seemed to like you. He asks about you whenever I go visit."

She couldn't help but remember the last time she'd spoken with Hank, and the uncomfortable advice he'd given her. There was a story she was supposed to tell Booth, but she hadn't found the appropriate time yet, and she didn't know how she was going to recognize the right time when it happened. She wasn't good at those things. Instead, she internalized the information and decided just to wait. Hopefully, one day, a moment would be right enough that it would scream at her and she'd know.

Until then, she had to sit with this unsettling information, and with the other things Booth's grandfather had said to her… things she was not willing to contemplate. "What time are you thinking of coming over?"

The waitress brought their drinks and Booth promptly seized his. Sometimes it was nice to have a prop in hand when he was talking about things that could become uncomfortable. "Well actually as soon as we were done here I was going to go get Parker from Rebecca's. I thought I'd be at your place by 5. Parker can swim for an hour and then he can shower and we can meet Pops around 7:30. Is that alright?"

"That sounds like a reasonable timeline to me."

Again, he was obviously pleased. Sometimes he marveled that his partner wasn't more uncomfortable around his son. Lately she seemed really very good with him. "Parker will be excited."

Just then they were interrupted by an ominous ring of Booth's cellphone. They both froze, their eyes meeting before going to the demanding device. He picked up the phone and opened it, but not without significant dread. "Booth," he answered.

Brennan couldn't hear the conversation, but she knew it wasn't a new case by the tone of his voice. She wasn't very good at reading facial expressions, so she didn't necessarily catch the relief on his face, but his voice dropped and became even pleasant.

"Oh? Well thanks, Director Hacker. Yeah we're pretty pleased. Thank you sir." His gaze flicked to Bones. She did not catch the small frown that tugged down the conrers of his mouth. "Yes, she's here. Uh-huh. Well actually, sir, she just finished telling me that she already had plans tonight. Yes. I don't know, something with some of her Squints." He laughed. It sounded forced. "My thoughts exactly. I have no idea what they do for fun."

Brennan's eyes narrowed defensively. He flashed her one of his most charming grins. She relented and shook her head.

"Excuse me, Sir. I've got to go. Yeah, picking up my son. Hey, do me a favor? Any cases that come in tonight… can you reassign them unless it's absolutely necessary the squints get involved? Yeah, use our own guys. We could all use a break this evening. Oh good. Thank you, Sir. You too."

He closed the phone with a snap just as the waitress brought out their food. "Hacker wanted to know what your plans were tonight."

"I gathered that," she said with vague amusement. "And you lied to him."

"Yeah well, I don't need him knowing I'm the reason you can't go out with him tonight."

"Why? Do you think that would jeopardize your job?" her brows lifted skeptically.

"What? No. Of course not. Well okay, maybe a little, but mostly I just don't want it to raise any of those questions we get asked all the time." He picked up his sandwich and took a huge bite, swallowing any words that might attempt to follow his last.

She cut her croissant with a fork and knife – an act he never understood- but paused before putting the bite into her mouth. Her expression was perplexed. "What question is that?"

"Nevermind. Just eat your food. We're on a schedule."

She sighed quietly in exasperation, finishing it off with a determined bite. Surprisingly, the combination of flavors sparked some deep sense of satisfaction the moment they hit her tongue. She swallowed, grinned, and cut off another bite.

"What's funny?" he asked, gulping down a large bite of his own. As always, he was acutely attuned to her every expression, her every movement.

"You got were correct, that's all. I'm displaying my approval."

"Okay, professor." He rolled his eyes. "What did I get right?"

"My food. You ordered for me. You were right, this is what I needed. Much more satisfying than the salad I thought I wanted."

At first he seemed surprised, then perhaps slightly annoyed. "You tricked me into ordering for you?"

"No! I placed my order and then you ordered something else for me instead. As I recall you didn't even ask."

It took only a fraction of a second for her words to digest before one of his crooked, gloating grins broke out over his face. "Haha, you're right. And I was right. See. _That's_ how well I know you."

"You're just lucky you weren't wrong," she smirked, taking another bite.

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_{okay folks, a little taste for what's coming up! And there will be a case involved, and some Hodgela, and some serious B&B, and all the goodies we read fanfics for. Stay tuned! As please R&R!}_


	2. Chapter 2

_{Thanks for the encouraging reviews, everyone! Your support gives me muse and I'm happy to present the next two chapters so quickly. I really tried to keep the pace going and not let the story lag. Hope you enjoy!}_

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The ringing of her doorbell was expected, but she was so engrossed in her writing that she did not even notice it the first time. The soft, rhythmic clicking of the keys as words trailed after her flying fingers was the only thing she was aware of. The thoughts dripped out of her and onto the screen, line after line, page after page. Kathy and Andy were delving into unbridled passion in the back of his SUV; despite being the author, Brennan was transfixed.

Finally, the ringing became more insistent and demanding. She looked up, startled to have finally heard it, and immediately snapped down the screen of her laptop. He needn't see what she was writing yet. After the book was finished and ready for proof-reading, perhaps.

Booth and Parker stood at her door, bare-chested with towels around their necks. Brennan smiled when she saw them. "Have a nice swim?"

"Yeah!" Parker said enthusiastically. "I beat Dad in a race!"

"That seems unlikely," she laughed, glancing at Booth, appreciating the opportunity to view his spectacular build again.

"Parenting, Bones. Sometimes the kids win, despite physics." He peered past her. "What took you so long to come to the door?"

She moved to the side to let them in, noting their slightly wet footprints. As long as they didn't drip everywhere or sit on her couch, she was alright with footprints. "I was distracted working on my new book."

"Okay, Parker, you remember where the bathroom is?" Booth set down a backpack and began unzipping it. He glanced curiously toward his partner's laptop.

"Yeah, I do. Are you sure I gotta shower?"

"Your hair is light, Parker. Lighter than your dads," Brennan explained. "If you swim very often without washing your hair, the chemicals in the pool will turn it green. Besides, you smell like chlorine."

"Cool!" Parker cried, his eyes growing wide. "Green hair!"

"No, not cool." Booth pulled a set of clothes out of the backpack for his son. "Not cool. Pops doesn't want to see you with green hair. Go wash up."

"Come here, Parker, I'll get you a towel." Brennan led him down the hall.

He sighed reluctantly and followed. "Are you coming to dinner with us, Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, your great grandfather invited me."

"My dad will like that."

It was stated so quietly and matter-of-factly, as if he was simply stating a known truth rather than something which took Brennan by surprise as it did. She glanced at him, pausing at her linen closet. "Why do you say that?"

"Because he likes you," Parker explained, giving her an expression as if he thought she was a little dumb for not knowing the answer. "You're his friend."

"Oh, right." She took out a towel and walked him down to her bathroom. "Do _you_ think it's okay that I'm coming with you tonight?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. "My dad likes you, and I like what my dad likes, so I like you too. Besides, you let us use your pool! And your dad showed me some cool experiments."

She smiled, marveling at how easy it was to please children, and how pure their logic was. "I like you too, and I'm glad you liked the experiments."

They entered the bathroom and she set the towel on the toilet. "Shampoo is here, conditioner if you need it is this one, and you can just yell if you need anything. The water gets pretty hot, so be careful. And remember to wash really good."

"Uh, wait, Miss Doctor Brennan?" he asked nervously as she retreated towards the door.

She paused and looked back.

He looked down at his feet quickly, then back up at her again. "Did you mean it when you said my hair might turn green?"

"If you don't wash it, yes," she replied carefully.

He looked at it shampoo uncertainly. Sometimes his expressions were so close to Booth's. They tugged at her heart. She smiled and walked back towards him. "Do you want me to help you wash your hair?"

His smile illuminated his face. "Yeah! Cause sometimes Dad says I don't wash it very good on my own."

"Okay, but keep your swimming shorts on, okay? I don't want you dad to think I'm being inappropriate." Brennan smiled in response to his infectious grin. She urged him into the tub and turned on the spray. It was inevitable she was going to get wet in this process too, but strangely, she didn't mind.

Brennan was never very good around children. She didn't know how to communicate with them, and her own memories of childhood did not provide very good references to lean on. For some reason, though, Booth's son Parker was different. She still said awkward things sometimes that he did not understand, but he never grew frustrated. He usually just laughed at her big words. Maybe it was because Booth was always around to buffer the interaction, or maybe it was because Parker had inherited something of his father's people-skills. Either way, Brennan found it much easier to get along with him than other children.

Booth, meanwhile, had called his grandfather to confirm the time they were meeting and was about to get a shower of his own in Brennan's bathroom. He knew her apartment all too well and felt licensed to go and do as he pleased there.

After he was done on the phone, however, his gaze caught on the smooth white rectangle of her laptop. Within that little device lay the secrets of her mind, and the buried treasures of her new book. Still, he didn't know how soon she'd be back and he didn't want to incur her wrath now. _Another time, I'll peek,_ he promised himself.

As he was going to get a towel from her closet, he suddenly heard a peal of laughter down the hall that made his heart warm. It was Parker's laugh. Then it was joined too by a second familiar laugh. Bones?

She shrieked playfully (a sound he didn't know she could make!) and there was another, more exuberant round of laughter. He snatched the towel quickly and approached the bathroom. What was going on in there? Of course, his curiosity did not stop him from appreciating the moment. The two laughs he loved best in the world were sounding together.

He saw his partner lathering his son's hair, giggling and trying to duck out of the line of spray Parker was directing from the shower overhead. It was a scene so endearing that it seared itself into his memory. He stood there, trapped by the overwhelming joy that arose out of this moment. Brennan wasn't good with kids, this was no secret to him, but right now she looked so… so _maternal_!

Eager to escape before being noticed, he hurried off toward her bedroom and shut the door. Any longer witnessing that interaction and he might revisit the topic of her having a baby himself. Fortunately, these thoughts didn't last long. They were trumped by the realization of where he was.

Her room smelled of her, felt of her. He turned around and let his eyes adjust. The shades were drawn so it was darker in here. He did not look too long at her bed or night stand or anything else, but merely made his way to her bathroom. This was going to be a difficult place to try and keep his thoughts in check. Just seeing the bed, _her_ bed, in his peripheral vision caused his imagination to leap into gear. Thoughts like this he tried every day to avoid, but now they assaulted his mind with purpose.

He turned the water on cool before he got in. Ever since his coma, it had been harder and harder for him to keep his wits about him around her. When they had a case, it was easier. They could focus on the work and he could get lost in their old routine. Times like this, after a case was over, during the down time until another came up… that was when it was dangerous. Maybe tonight wasn't such a good idea after all. Having her there with his grandfather and his son would seem so family-ish. It made him ache inside.

He grimaced at her shampoo. It wasn't the girliest scent out there, in fact it seemed pretty generic, but it wasn't his. He squeezed some into his hand. It smelled like her hair. He was overwhelmed. Wearing her scent all night wasn't going to help. He thought about just leaving the chlorine in, rather than battle his own senses all evening. But there was a part of him that thought otherwise. Some irrational part of him reasoned that if he carried her scent, it meant he belonged to her, and she to him.

"Stupid." He muttered. But instead of tipping his hand, he rubbed it into the other and lathered his hair.

It was a difficult shower, no matter how quickly he tried to get through it. A dark side of him wondered, with masochistic viciousness, how many of her various physical interests had also showered in here. It made him seethe with ugly jealousy, the kind of jealousy he wasn't willing to admit, even to himself. She was so willing to bestow her favor on anyone she reasoned was compatible with herself. What was wrong with him? They were completely compatible. Weren't they?

And then he remembered once, two years ago, when under force of blackmail she _had_ shown him that degree of affection. He tipped his face into the water, remembering clutch of her hands on his collar, her breath mingling with his for half a second, and the press of her lips…

His hand shot out and grabbed the temperature, sweeping it to icy cold. His body shuddered under the frigid stream and he quickly rinsed out the rest of his hair. The truth settled over him, as cold as the water. They were _not_ compatible. They were complete opposites, and no matter how well they got along, there was still the matter of their working relationship.

Turning off the water and grabbing the towel, he heard Brennan's door shut. That meant she was in her room. He sighed.

"Booth?" she called.

"Yeah, Bones. Don't walk in, please."

"I don't know why you'd be concerned." He heard the sound of her opening her dresser. "It's not like I haven't-,"

"HEY!" he cried, startling her into silence. "Careful. My kid's in the house."

"He's finishing his shower, he can't hear us."

Booth rolled his eyes, deciding not to reply. He dressed quickly, swiping his hand over the mirror to check his hair. "What are you doing out there?"

"Well, Parker wanted help washing his hair. He was worried about the chlorine, and I-,"

"Yeah, okay, Bones. You got a little wet and need to restyle your hair or whatever. I don't need the full explanation." His excited thoughts made him feel a little irritable. He opened the door of the bathroom and stepped out quickly, only to freeze at the sight before him.

She turned and gave him a cold look, but he was oblivious to it. She was just putting on a different shirt and hadn't yet buttoned up the front. Her smooth, creamy skin was exposed more than he was used to seeing. The flat plane of her stomach, interrupted by her black bra, and then continuing again was like a blank canvas, inviting the right artist to seize it. Inviting _him_ to explore those pale slopes.

He swallowed, once, twice, and a third time. His mind was blank.

"If you would have given me two seconds, I was going to explain I was changing," she sighed, apparently unperturbed. Her fingers deftly flew over the buttons.

He was filled with teeth-grinding regret at each button that quickly fastened together until the unexpected sight had disappeared again beneath a rather attractive white blouse. Still, it seemed plain and unsightly compared to what it concealed.

His throat cleared awkwardly as he shuddered back into his senses, just glad she'd already changed her pants. "Uhh," his voice sounded shaky and he couldn't remember what to say.

"Are you ready to go? Have you spoken with Hank?"

Thankfully, as always, she was completely oblivious. She sat down on her bed to slide on her shoes.

"Yeah." He swallowed again. "Uh, yeah. Pops wants to go to the, uh, the Founding Fathers. Good?"

"Yes." She was giving him an odd look. Maybe she wasn't so unobservant after all. "Are you alright?"

"Parker?" he called, striding quickly out of her room.

"All done, Dad! Bones helped me wash my hair!" said Parker, bouncing out of the guest bathroom.

"That's good." Seeing his son helped Booth get his concentration back. He fixed the boy's hair and gave him knuckles. "Ready to go see Pops?"

"Yeah! Swimming always makes me hungry."

Brennan emerged from her room as well, giving the boy a surprisingly affectionate look. "Would you like a snack bar to hold you off while we drive there?"

"No, Bones," Booth said quickly. "He doesn't have a big appetite as it is. Don't want to spoil it."

She shrugged, exchanging an apologetic look with the eight-year-old. "Let me just get my purse."

"Since when do you carry around a purse like that?" Booth asked, ushering the group out into the living room so he could put their wet suits in the backpack.

His partner drifted off to her kitchen table, grabbing the sheik black clutch with a slim strap he referred to. "Angela and I went shopping yesterday. She assured me that every girl needs a purse like this. I'm not sure why."

"It's feminine," he explained. "Girls think they look better with it. Honestly, most guys don't even notice or care about the size of a woman's handbag."

"Lucy Withers has a cool backpack," Parker remarked. "It has Transformers on it!"

"Who is Lucy Withers?" Brennan asked. Her clear eyes had that glint of curiosity in them.

"A girl in my class." A shy smile stole across the young boy's face.

"Is she your friend?"

He shrugged. "Lasky says boys and girls can't be friends. Says Lucy is weird because girls don't have that kind of backpack. Lasky says girls have a disease, and if you get it, you become gay."

"What?" Booth interjected sharply, wheeling around to look at his boy. "Listen to me, Parker. Lasky is feeding you a bunch of garbage. None of that is true, okay? How do you even know what gay is?"

He blinked innocently at his father, looking to Brennan for an explanation as to why that question would even arise. "Everyone knows, Dad."

"Well, look, don't worry about that. You can't catch any disease from girls. Just ask Bones, she's a doctor."

"Not a medical doctor, Booth," Brennan scolded lightly. But seeing Parker look at her again, she sighed. "But you're father is right. Girls do not have any specific disease that will make boys more effeminate."

Parker wrinkled his nose, this time searching for an explanation from the adult he could easier understand.

"Being friends with girls wont make you gay, son," Booth sighed. "Besides, there isn't a law that says girls and boys can't be friends. Bones is my friend, and she's a girl, isn't she?"

Parker considered this for a minute. Meanwhile Brennan quietly reminded her partner of the time and he was instantly impatient again. He zipped up the backpack, located his keys, and urged them out of the apartment. Parker was quiet the whole way down the elevator to the parking garage.

Booth's SUV awaited them, as it always did, silent and confident. It's presence dominated the garage, imperiously overshadowing even the most luxurious residents of the structure. Cars spend most of their lives waiting, but his looked as if it were just crouched for the kill.

Granted, it wasn't all that impressive. A standard-issue government SUV, a generic suburban painted jet black with tinted windows. There were meaner cars parked in the lot. Brennan lived in an up-scale apartment complex, of course, so her neighbors had quite the array of luxury vehicles, including a new Audi R8 which lurked in the background like a silent predator of its own kind, sleeker than Booth's bulky titan. But the SUV dominated because it was parked skewed across three spaces and it had those lights, embedded in the grill and hung from beneath the mirror. Those lights that meant everything to this car, that gave it its status. This was a car of authority.

Brennan preferred the beauty of bones over the smooth, curvy physique and purring engine of a well-designed car, but even she couldn't help but feel a stab of affection for the black beast awaiting them. It had taken her so many places at the side of her partner, brought them to so many crime scenes, to so many homes and work places, and to so many courtrooms. It held many fond memories, and many unhappy ones too. She felt the warmth of comfort sweep over her as they approached. This was her element, as familiar to her now as the brilliantly-lit platform of her lab.

Booth opened the door for her and the other for Parker before climbing in himself. He started the car, his eyes flicking over to the R8 with the gleam of lust. "Man, Bones. What I wouldn't give for one of those. You live in a real ritzy place, you know that?"

She frowned, following his gaze to the prowler. "I like your car."

He laughed, throwing the SUV into reverse and driving out of the gloom. "I do too, but she's no Audi."

"I fail to see the impact of the name."

"So…" Parker said softly, speaking for the first time since the apartment. "So girls and boys _can_ be friends?"

"Yes, that's what I said." Booth seemed slightly surprised his son was still working through the logic. "Like me and Bones."

"But I thought when boys and girls were friends then they would someday get married." Parker seemed puzzled.

"What? Why did you think that?"

"Well…" he explained slowly, as if he too were just considering it for the first time. "Mom and Brent were friends, and now they want to get married. Lasky's dad was friends with his girlfriend, and now they are getting married. Uncle Jared was friends with Padme, and now _they_ are getting married too… "

"Well, your father and I are friends and we're not getting married," Bones explained, turning in her seat to face him. "A lot of people are just friends."

"Well would you want to?" he asked, his eyes wide with a curiosity that mirrored the kind she sometimes wore.

"Get married?" She was taken aback.

"Yeah."

Booth cleared his throat uncomfortably, his mind flashing back to that quick glimpse of her smooth body. Married was a whole other playing field, his mind wanted something else first. "Bones and I are partners, okay, Buddy? That couldn't ever happen."

"Well, would you _want_ to?" he repeated, "If you weren't anymore?"

A peculiar trace of color warmed over Brennan's cheeks and she couldn't help but slide a glance in her partner's direction. He wasn't looking at her, his gaze fixed determinedly on the road before them. "Bones doesn't believe in marriage," he replied dismissively.

Brennan thought this was a rather unfair summery of herself to make to the boy, without further explanation or reasoning. She didn't want to be depicted to the child as a heartless anti-cupid who destroyed love with murderous beliefs. But when she turned to better explain herself to Parker, she saw a distant look in his face. He was already thinking of something else.

"I think I'd like to marry Lucy."

"Well, you can think of marrying her when you're a little older." Booth glanced in the rearview mirror at his son. Where on earth was all this coming from?

"When I have hair under my arms?" Parker grinned.

"Yeah," replied his father, "Under your arms and on your chin."

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_{Dinner with Pops coming up! r&r pretty please :D}_


	3. Chapter 3

_{I was going to put this one up immediately after the last one, but I had something come up. Still, multiple same-day updates is good, right?}_

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"So you're not working on anything new?" Hank said conversationally, looking up from his food.

The Founding Fathers was busy tonight, and the general hum of various conversations made for comfortable background noise. After waiting for Hank's taxi to arrive, they had gotten a table right away- partially because the service was always excellent, and partially because the two partners were known here almost as well as at the diner. It all made for smooth transitioning into easy conversation.

"Not yet," replied Brennan. "But probably by the end of the week we'll have a new one. That's usually the frequency at which they come up."

"That's a lot of murders."

"Yes," she said softly.

Parker glanced between his great grandfather and the anthropologist, not saying much but clearly internalizing what they said.

Hank noticed, and quickly shifted the topic. "So what do you folks do between cases?"

Booth answered quickly. "Bones works on stuff the Jeffersonian assigns her. You know, real anthropology stuff. Ancient remains."

"That is really what I became an anthropologist to do," she agreed. "It's my comfort, my core passion."

Hank glanced at his grandson. "And you? What do you do?"

"Sometimes work normal cases, sometimes take the time off to spend with Parker." He ruffled his son's hair.

The older man's face became disapproving. "You two don't do anything together between cases?"

"Sure they do," Parker interjected suddenly, grinning. "Bones lets me and dad go swim at her place!"

"Bones?" Hank smiled wryly. "Is that what you let him call her, Shrimp?"

"No," Booth amended quickly. "We've talked about this, Parker, remember?"

"Dad says I could call her Dr. Brennan. It's more respectful. But sometimes I forget."

Hank nodded. "I agree. You should respect your elders."

Brennan chuckled, taking a quick sip of water. "I don't mind, really. Ordinarily I would prefer Dr. Brennan, but I am learning that alternative names can be a sign of affection and friendship, and since I allow Booth to call me Bones, I don't see any reason to not let his son do so as well. Parker hears his dad call me that all the time."

"So I can call you Bones?" Parker asked, his eyes illuminating hopefully.

"Of course."

"A sign of affection is right." Hank's voice held some kind of significance in the way he said it, but Brennan chose not to analyze it. "So you two do see each other between cases?"

Booth frowned. Obviously Hank was fishing for something, and was determined not to let the subject drop. "Sometimes, Pops, okay? Why does it matter?"

"Well I just want to know how two people who can face down death together spend their off-days, that's all!" He sounded innocent, but there was no such purity in his flashing blue eyes. "Can't you humor an old man?"

Brennan, of course, humored him. "Well when we aren't working on a case, in the evenings we usually have our own schedules. We have separate social lives, you know." Though if she were being completely honest, lately those separate social lives seemed to have been dissolving a bit in favor of more time spent together.

"You have a boyfriend, right? A beautiful girl like you can't be single for very long."

Her thoughts flashed to Hacker briefly, but she instantly rejected the notion. However intriguing he was, and however many dates they'd gone on, they were not in a committed relationship. "I date," she decided.

"Dad doesn't have a girlfriend," Parker offered helpfully.

"I know." Hank's voice sounded comically depressed. "I must have goofed up somewhere in raising him."

Booth shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't like this situation one bit. His grandfather was being far too nosey, having been disappointed with the lack of progress being made to bring to two together. Meanwhile Parker was being all too informative and Bones didn't seem to have any reserve either. He didn't like where it all was headed.

This discomfort combined with the constant reminder of her that hung around him like an aura. Her scent clung to him. His mind continually conjured up that brief image of her changing her shirt. And as usual, he was hyper-aware of every movement she made. She looked so simply beautiful there in the light of the restaurant, her attention split between his grandfather and his son. Her smile was gentler then he usually saw it, and there was a bright look on her face that he never saw while they were at work. It was the opposite look she wore when she used to go visit her father in prison. Instead of a sad little girl, she looked like a wonder-struck child basking in her first taste of family.

Sometimes he felt like he didn't really know her at all. She still surprised him so much. Occasionally in social situations she was unfamiliar with, she would treat it like a squint and try to run little, subtle (or not-so-subtle) experiments to gauge the situation. Sometimes, she was just obstinate or obnoxious. Sometimes she was silent, letting him and his social prowess run the show. And sometimes, once in a long while, she shocked him by behaving like she was tonight. Subdued, submissive, eager to soak in the simplistic happiness of a moment. She was better than he sometimes gave her credit for. Underneath that rational genius squint, she was actually a person who used to know normal human behavior and who thirsted for comfortable moments to resurface.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him softly, drawing him out of his ruminations.

He saw that Hank and Parker were distracted observing an oddly dressed couple and making remarks at their expense. He glanced back at Bones. "About you," he answered honestly. "About how comfortable you seem to be right now, even though this conversation is getting awkward and it's with my grandfather and my son. What's gotten into you?"

She gave him a strange look, as if she wasn't expecting a reply _that_ honest. Her smile was that crooked half-smile that he loved so much. "Are you getting uncomfortable with the topic?"

"I just don't need my partner, my grandfather, and my son discussing my love life, that's all."

"I find it amusing you get skittish whenever this topic comes up. Having a romantic life is normal, Booth."

"Well what about you?" he hissed quietly, hoping very much that the other two at the table were not drawn away from their conversation to listen in. "Going out on a date with my boss once in a blue moon doesn't exactly count, does it? Where is your boyfriend?"

"What does the moon have to do with anything?" She was secretly glad for the unfamiliar expression so she wouldn't have to address the rest.

"Forget it," he sighed. "Just remember when the conversation picks back up that neither of us are really the model of healthy relationships, okay?"

She shrugged, pretending to be ambivalent to the whole subject. Truthfully, she was very much aware of her lack of a sex-life. Hacker may have been charming, but he most definitely wasn't physically appealing and she didn't ever see herself engaging in anything resembling intimacy with him. It had been a long time since she had someone like that. Lately it was becoming harder and harder to think about getting into a real relationship.

"So," said Hank, turning back around. "Did you meet my grandson's fiancé?"

"Padme, yes, I did." Brennan picked at her food. "She seems nice, though only one encounter doesn't seem enough to judge for certain." She side-glanced at her partner. "Jared seems to really love her."

Booth was nonplussed by her look. He had come to terms with Padme's past. Since it didn't bother Jared, it shouldn't bother him. Besides, watching Brennan get upset at his hypocritical intolerance made him relax about the whole thing. As usual, he would do or say just about anything to put her at ease. "I still think it's a little crazy they're getting married after only a month of knowing each other."

"Your gram and I only courted for a month before we got married. There's nothing wrong with that," Hank chided. "Gives you a chance to grow with each other, to have something to learn about the other person when the passion wears off."

"That is a very good theory," said Brennan. "A lot of cultures still practice arranged marriages, using that very argument to support their beliefs."

"Whoa, wait, you support the idea of arranged marriages?" Booth was incredulous.

All eyes, including young Parker's, turned to him. Brennan got that familiar expression, where she was about to defend intellectual reason over gut-reaction. "Yes, Booth, I do. Arranged marriages have a higher percentage of working out long term than when we choose our partners ourselves."

"Yeah because in cultures where they arrange marriages, they're also not allowed to divorce!"

The corner of her mouth twitched in annoyance. "That is not always true. Besides, it's like what Hank said, you have to learn about your partner and grow to love them, which some argue is a better formula for a successful relationship."

Something in the pit of his stomach stirred at the words she was saying. Something that hinted this didn't have to apply to arranged marriages alone. "But what about when two people have to get married, only to find out they are complete opposites?"

She shrugged and looked away. "Opposites can attract." Her voice was soft.

Hank cut in, giving voice to the Booth's suspicion. "I agree with the lady, Shrimp. Think about it. You two were kind of _arranged_, weren't you? You didn't choose to work together in the beginning, did you? And you've grown into each other."

It was true. And they were more successful because they had to learn early on how to get over their vast differences. Booth still wasn't ready to admit they had a point, especially because he knew his grandfather was hunting for something, and he didn't want to give the old man any kind of satisfaction in that department.

"Dad, could you maybe talk to Lucy Wither's parents?" Parker asked hopefully.

Brennan laughed in surprise while Hank gave his great grandson a startled look. Booth set down his fork. "What is this sudden fixation with marriage, Parker? You're not even old enough to date Lucy, let alone marry her."

"Then we could watch Transformers together," Parker concluded, scooping up a large bite of mac and cheese.

"It's a wonder the kid even considers marriage as a possibility, you know, with the examples you and Rebecca set for him." Hank shook his head disapprovingly. "At least he's got an uncle with his head in the right place."

"Okay, how about we find something else to talk about besides my love life?" Booth sounded a little more curt than he usually did when addressing the man he admired so much.

"Like Jared's wedding?" Brennan suggested. "I think that's where the conversation was going before we started talking about arranged marriages."

"Yeah, okay. That works. Pops, you're coming, right?"

Hank snorted. "Of course I'm coming! And I'm bringing Nadine too."

"Who is Nadine?"

"She's my girlfriend."

Brennan and Booth exchanged startled looks at this blunt reply, and Parker started laughing. "You have a _girlfriend_, Grandpa Pops? But you're so old!"

"I may be old, but that doesn't mean I can't get any girls," replied the elder. "I can be quite charming, you know."

Booth cleared his throat. "I thought you still loved Gram…"

"I do." Hank's voice grew hard and his clever, alert blue eyes leveled on his grandson. "Believe me, Shrimp, I do. I miss her every day. But that doesn't mean I have to spend the rest of my years alone, do I? I'm lonely, and Nadine is lonely too. Her husband died four years ago. We're not getting married or anything, so don't get your briefs in a bundle. We're just keeping each other company, that's all."

"That seems like an intelligent arrangement," Brennan said with a gentle smile. "I'd like to meet her."

"Oh believe me, I think you two would get along well. Deanie is like you." Hank chuckled.

"An empirical scientist?" Brennan's surprise was obvious in her tone. "A genius and best-selling author?"

"Humility, Bones, we talked about this," Booth murmured quietly.

Hank laughed. "Leave her alone, kid. She's just being honest, if a little literal. No, Doctor, she's got gumption. She speaks her mind. Like you. Those steel ovaries we talked about."

"Oh." Brennan couldn't decide if she was disappointed (since she had been hoping to find someone else of a similar mindset) or if she was flattered that Hank thought she had gumption. She glanced at the table, twirling one of her rings absently on her finger. "So you're bringing her to the wedding?"

"Yeah. You better be there."

"I will," she assured him quickly. Then, realizing her error, glanced at her partner quickly while a faint trace of color warmed her cheeks. "That is, if Booth invites me."

"Of course you're invited, Bones," Booth said immediately. "That's a given. Besides, Jared knows I rarely go anywhere without you, and Padme really liked you, so they're already including you in the guest list." He chilled at the prospect of seeing her dressed to the nines again. Padme had reason to hate Brennan, as far as Booth was concerned, because very likely she would upstage the bride in beauty. Or at least, that was what it would seem to him.

"I would have knock him off his block if he didn't invite you," Hank remarked with a grin.

Brennan's expression was skeptical. "No offense, Hank, but Booth is young and very strong. He might let you hit him without trying to stop you, but I doubt you could generate enough force to knock him down."

"Well, I'd invite you myself then," laughed Hank, unconcerned with her observation of his advanced age.

Booth tuned out of their light bantering. He felt distracted and out of sorts. His gaze kept drifting to her fingers, fidgeting with that old ring she had, fighting the image of himself reaching out to catch those flighty, lonely fingers in his own and clasp them tight. He knew those hands. He studied them almost daily. Sometimes, he could still feel the cool press of them on his arm from the many times she had touched him. He watched them in their element, handling the bones of people long gone, grasping them with the greatest of care. They were fascinating tools to him, and he wanted so badly to hold them in his own, just for a moment.

"Dad," Parker said quietly. "I'm tired. Are we going to stay a long time?"

"No buddy, we're almost done." He was relieved for distraction. He glanced up and saw his partner leaning in on the table, her expression intent. She was enjoying herself. He hated to cut it short.

"Didn't you say, Shrimp, that this therapist of yours was putting out a book soon about the two of you?" Hank asked suddenly.

Booth was instantly alert. His gaze swung between his grandfather and his partner quickly. What had they been talking about while he was lost in thought? "Yeah, Sweets, he is. But I'm not going to let you read it, Pops."

"I don't think so," Hank protested with a frown. "I'm going to read it if I please. Deanie and I will read it together, since her eyesight is better than mine."

"Look, Pops, I hate to cut this short but I've got to get Parker back. He's tired from all our swimming." Booth signaled for the check. Parker yawned as if to punctuate his point. Truthfully, the kid probably could have hung on for a few more minutes but Booth wasn't willing to sit around to see where the discussion of Sweet's book would lead them.

Brennan nodded when she looked at Parker, agreeing softly that it would be good to get him home. She wondered briefly what dreams would fill the little boy's head tonight. Would they be of swimming, or of her place? Or would they be of the little girl in his class with the tomboy backpack who he wanted to marry? She smiled whimsically at the thought.

Hank insisted he be allowed to foot the bill, after much argument from both Booth and Brennan. After all was paid, they bid a fond farewell and parted ways. Booth drove Brennan home, promising to call her when a case came through.

Each was perhaps a little eager to be out of each other's company for once, since the evening had been exhausting. Perhaps not physically, but certainly each was tired of dodging Hank's questions and remarks, and tired of constantly calculating the other's thoughts and motives. Sometimes, it was good to get a break. But when Brennan returned to her empty apartment, she felt the solitude of it more keenly than usual. Without her two favorite Booths, the place felt hollow. Like a house, but not a home.

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_{R&R, my fine fellow fic'rs. :) Your comments keep me going. Coming up next: the case! And the squints we love so much. And don't worry, Parker and Pops will return for more fun later. X3 }_


	4. Chapter 4

_{Alright guys, sorry for the time lapse in getting this one up. Thanks so much for all your kind words about the last chapter! I loved writing it and you guys make it all worth it. :D Now have faith and keep with me through this next chapter. Setting up the case, so things might get a little more technical and a little less personal. But don't worry! It will all be worth it. Also... slight disclaimer... I am not in any way qualified to write about forensics, so don't stab me if the science is inaccurate. xD}_

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The call came through in the early morning.

Booth lay there in bed for a while after he hung up, not knowing whether to feel relieved they had something to work on or disappointed their break had been so short. Either way, he was glad to be awake. His dreams had been filled with her, and he attributed it to the smell of her shampoo.

He grabbed his phone again and clicked through the numbers slowly. She was on his speed-dial, but wasn't in a hurry. It didn't take too long to get through to the B's anyway.

"_Booth?_" Her voice was sleepy and had an endearing kind of rasp to it.

"Yeah Bones. We've got a case."

She groaned. "_Already? And so early in the morning?_"

"Murder doesn't wait, I guess."

"_You don't even know it is murder,_" she grumbled. He heard sounds from her end and assumed she was getting up.

"Two bodies," he offered. "That sounds exciting, right?"

There was a squeak followed by the sound of the shower running. "_It sounds grim,_" she replied. "_So what time are you coming to pick me up?_"

"I'll be there in an hour." His heart began to race, unable to help where his mind drifted knowing she was about to get in the shower.

"_Okay. Bye_."

He snapped his phone shut and stood up, practically bolting for his own shower. The water was kept very cold.

____

"What did you do with Parker?" she asked as they pulled up to a little coffee shop surrounded by police vehicles and yellow tape. Pedestrians, neighbors, and passing cars all stopped or slowed down, trying to peer in past all the interfering law enforcement to see what the commotion was about.

"Took him to school," replied Booth quickly. "He'll go back to Rebecca's tonight."

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know you like longer breaks so you can spend more time with him."

"What can you do, you know?" he sighed.

They entered the coffee shop, teaming with officers. There was a young barista girl in tears, talking to an officer and motioning frantically toward the back of the store, which was the pair's clue to keep going.

As usual, the smell indicated exactly where they needed to go. No matter how many crime scenes they went to, no matter how many cases they worked, Booth would never get used to the smell. His stomach churned and bile rose in his throat, half from the stench of decaying flesh, and half from anticipation of the grisly sight they would quickly come upon.

It did not disappoint.

The bodies were in stages of extreme rotting, with patches of blackish flesh still clinging to their bones. Their clothing remained remarkably intact, though both bodies looked as though their clothes had been through the shredder. One of them wasn't wearing a shirt. Scraggly strings of remaining hair clung to their scalps, and various pupae made their homes in little craters and niches formed by the receding flesh.

The bodies were lying back behind the dumpster out back of the coffee shop. The stench of the dumpster only added to everything.

Booth tried not to gag while he checked his case notes. "Okay, looks like the girl opening this morning came out chuck some stuff, noticed a really weird smell that had been going on for a while and decided to look for what she thought was a dead rat."

"Well there definitely _has_ been some rodent activity, though that was not the source of the smell," replied his partner, crouching down beside the bodies.

"Really?" Booth said in mock sarcasm. "So, what do we have here? Murder, right?"

Brennan did not reply. Her gaze scanned over the two remains clinically. They still had a bit more flesh than she would have liked, but she could still see enough bone to do what she did best. Her gloved hands reached out to brush things aside and tip things towards her. "Both victims are male," she announced, "Late twenties, early thirties for both."

"Brothers, maybe?" Booth suggested.

"Conjecture," she dismissed immediately. "Besides, look here, their facial structure is completely different. They share no genetic indicators at all. No, I would feel confident in saying there is no way these two could have been brothers."

She moved over to focus on just the one body. "The mandible is crushed here on the side," she noted, tipping the head just a little. "And his nasal cavity is cracked. I wont be able to determine the extent of his injuries until we get him back to the lab and Cam can remove the flesh and the rest of the clothing. Preliminary examinations suggest he was beaten to death. This blow here to his ear was probably fatal."

"Okay, so that's murder. What about this guy? Same story?"

"No," said Brennan, glancing over at him.

Booth snorted, then immediately regretted it for the smell. "Come on, Bones. You didn't even look that closely!"

"Booth, give me just a minute longer with this man." She studied his arms and hands, examining the fingers carefully. "His fingers are dislocated," she said softly. "This man suffered a very painful death."

Booth said nothing. He waited for her continue, knowing now was not the best time to editorialize on that observation.

She moved on to the other body. He was the one not wearing a shirt, so it was easier for her to examine more carefully. "Cracked ribs," she noted, "Some severe damage to the spine."

"He was a tall one," Booth remarked, scanning the revolting corpse with mingled disgust and fascination.

"Yes, very tall," she agreed. She looked at his hands. Her brow furrowed. "_Severe_ cracks on the knuckles. Wait, what…?"

One of the hands had something curled in it. She very gently tipped it over, prying apart the fingers. It was crumpled and paper-like. "I think it's a photograph, but the rotting has destroyed it."

"Think Angela can restore it?" said Booth hopefully.

"Yes." Brennan didn't seem to have any doubt. "This man died from injuries too, though I'm not sure which was the fatal blow yet."

"Double homicide. What a way to start the day." Booth turned and looked for the FBI forensics team. "Alright boys, let's get bodies back to the Jeffersonian for the lady, shall we?"

"And the-,"

"I know, I know," Booth sighed. "And the bugs and all the crap around them."

________

"So, who do we have coming in today?" Hodgins asked wearily, buttoning up his blue lab coat and pinning on his access card.

Camille Saroyan glanced up from her computer distractedly. "We don't know the identities yet."

"Right. Yeah, kind of figured that part. I meant which of Dr. Brennan's fine grad students is coming in this morning?"

"Oh, that." Cam shook her head. "Sorry. I'm just a little distracted this morning. One of Michelle's teachers called and…" her words trailed off, seeing his expression. "You know what, not important. Um, that would be Mr. Bray who is assisting Dr. Brennan today."

"Thanks," said Hodgins quickly, though he didn't feel like saying it after all. He glanced around Cam's office idly. "You did say identities, right, as in plural? As in more than one victim?"

"Yes, there are two. Dr. Brennan and Booth are one their way over with the remains now."

"Shouldn't Wendell be here then? Dr. Brennan's not going to be happy if he's late." The idea was all too appealing. Hodgins felt sick for wishing Brennan's wrath upon the intern's head, but he couldn't help himself.

"Actually he's already here. He's in bone storage, familiarizing himself with unfamiliar injuries."

"Oh." He couldn't help but be disappointed. "You know who we haven't had in a while? Fisher. I really liked that guy."

Cam gave him a patient, though very knowing smile. Obviously, she knew exactly what his opposition to Wendell was. "It's up to Dr. Brennan which of her grad students she puts into the rotation."

"I never thought Dr. Brennan could be bribed, but I honestly think Daisy is only in the rotation because of Sweets." He seized the opportunity to redirect Cam's thoughts. He didn't want her patience or understanding or pity.

"Ooh," said a warm honey-smooth voice. "Don't let Bren here you say that or she'll withhold all your precious particulates."

Cam and Hodgins turned to see Angela sliding in behind them, grinning. She looked strikingly pretty today, as she often did, with her hair in glossy loose curls and an eclectic necklace sported around her slender neck. She was in her labcoat as well, awaiting the grim moment when her two macabre portrait-subjects would arrive.

Hodgins sighed internally at the sight of her. It was not a good sigh. Outwardly, however, he gave her a crooked smile. "I didn't say she was _being_ bribed, only that I can't think of an alternative explanation to why she keeps Daisy around."

"Don't forget, Hodgins," Cam interjected, "Brennan had quite a number of students to choose from. Daisy is intelligent and good at what she does, when she can be focused. Brennan must have seen something in her."

"Besides, she's calmed down a bit, hasn't she?" Angela agreed. "Sweets has been good for her."

Hodgins snorted incredulously. "I'd still rather work with Fisher, or Vincent."

Angela's eyes flicked to his. They were cold and penetrating. He quickly amended his list. "Or Wendell, of course."

"Mm-hm." It was clear she suspected exactly why her boyfriend had been notably absent. She turned her attention to Cam.

"I'd like to take a long lunch later today, if that's alright. I'm meeting with Avalon again and this afternoon was the only time she could do it. And I really didn't know we were going to have a case today when I scheduled."

Cam held up her hands. "You can take whatever time you need, as long as whatever you need to do for the case gets done."

"You might have more work than you thought," said Hodgins. "Two victims this morning."

"Two." She grimaced.

"Why do you need a psychic anyways?"

But before she could answer his question, a chirping alert sound sounded in the building, notifying the team that remains were now being brought in.

"Let's go to work, people," Cam ordered, ushering them out of her office.

____

"Wow," Angela said, wrinkling her nose. "You weren't kidding. Two for the price of one. Bargain."

They ascended the steps onto the forensic platform where the FBI team had just unloaded the two bodies. Booth and Brennan were supervising and, per usual, squabbling over something menial and superficial. Nobody bothered to listen in to find out what about. They were used to their behavior.

"Okay, so what do we have here?" said Cam, approaching the two autopsy tables.

Brennan gave Booth a final glare and turned to her team. "Two unrelated males, late twenties, both Caucasian. One of them has suffered massive injuries consistent with a beating. The other has similar injuries, but fewer. I wont know more until you remove the flesh."

"Hello my beauties," Hodgins crooned, approaching the first body to discover the maggots feasting on the flesh.

"We caught some rats for you too," Booth said with obvious disgust.

Hodgins awarded him a huge grin. "Why Booth, you shouldn't have."

"These are really gross," Angela sighed. "They're always gross, I know, and we definitely have seen worse but… ugh. I'm with Bren on this one, I like it better when they're just skeletons."

Booth glanced over at her. Out of anyone here besides Bones, he liked her the most. He certainly related to her better than anyone else. "Hey Angela. You look pretty today."

"Thanks Booth." Her smile was genuine. "And you look dashing yourself. Nothing like fresh corpses in the morning to wake you up, right?"

He chuckled.

"Where is Mr. Bray?" Brennan said as she snapped on her gloves.

"Coming, Dr. Brennan!" called the handsome young intern from across the lab. He was hurrying over, apparently flustered he hadn't been warned the examination was beginning. Brennan frowned lightly at his tardiness.

Hodgins felt smug.

"This man here suffered a lot of trauma to the face," Cam murmured, leaning down over the shorter body. "A lot of hemorrhagic tissue here."

"Ange, we'll need ID's as soon as you can." Brennan frowned deeper, peering down at the other victim. "Although, it seems they're missing some teeth. You might have to do a facial reconstruction."

"Okay, Sweetie, just let me know when you're done with the skull."

Booth fidgeted impatiently, watching Wendell approach the group and join in their discoveries. He hated this part. Usually he'd go back to his office and wait for their results, but he knew Hacker would be there, peppering him with questions about Bones. He couldn't stomach that this morning.

"Mr. Bray, tell me what you make of the fractures along Victim 2's phalanges," Brennan murmured in a familiar, instructing tone.

Wendell leaned in closer to see.

"Hey, Angela, we found a picture in the guy's hand. Think you can restore it?" Booth turned to the box of evidence and fished out the plastic baggie containing the crumpled paper.

"I can try." She reached out and took it in her hand, examining it through the bag. "It's pretty destroyed, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but you got your fancy computer and your amazing talent." Booth flashed her one of his best smiles.

She laughed. "Okay, tough man. I'll give it a try."

"It would appear," Wendell announced, "That the fractures in Victim 2's knuckles are consistent with the injuries suffered to Victim 1's jaw."

"Are you saying the second guy beat the first guy to death?" Booth asked, whipping around.

"Yes," Brennan replied confidently. "This is our murderer. His hands show clear evidence of trauma suffered by one who is repeatedly punching someone else in the head."

"Right, okay, but what about him? How did he die?"

"We're still determining that," Brennan said in mild irritation. Wasn't one conclusion good enough for him?

"Ugh, what's the point? He's dead. Isn't that good?" The hate on Angela's face was obvious as she glared at the second man's body.

"Well we don't know why he killed the first man," Cam reminded her. "We've got to remain objective here."

"Right, objective about a murderer." She shook her head. "If you want to see Booth, I'm going to go work on this photograph while they keep going. Maybe we can get an ID for one of them."

"Yeah, I'd rather watch you do that then them do this," he agreed quickly, following her down off the platform.

____

Angela scanned the photo and began to run the restoration program she'd built. It was going to take some time. "I'm isolating what colors remain intact right now. We'll have to rebuild the lost hues later."

"Sure, just do your thing. I don't really need the explanation." Booth fell back on her couch, glancing around at the art scattered along her walls. "Hey how come you don't use the Angelator anymore?"

"I've got better stuff on my new system." She shrugged, her eyes darting away from her huge screen to scrutinize him. "So you want to explain to me why my best friend bailed on our girls night?"

He chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head once. "I might have known it wouldn't take you long to get to this."

She put down her tablet and turned to fully face him, her hands on her hips. Her expression had a slight grin, but there was also a fire there that demanded answers. "Look, Mr. Big-Shot Sexy FBI hero, I know she went out with you last night. I know because when she called to cancel our plans, she wouldn't tell me why, and when I got annoyed she said to blame _you_. So you'd better tell me what happened, or I'm going to assume the worst, and everyone here already knows I have the most reputable gossip around, so very soon all us squints you love so much will think that you and Brennan were knockin' boots last night."

"Okay, okay," said Booth, holding up his hands. "Geeze, Angela. You're worse than Gitmo. Why would you go around spreading rumors like that? I thought you were one of the good people."

She didn't reply. Her hard stare intensified.

"Alright, alright. I took Parker to dinner with my grandfather last night, and Pops requested I bring Bones too. I guess they really hit it off when we worked that foreclosure case."

"So you guys went to a cozy little family dinner?" A slow smile started to unfold. She came over and dropped into a seat opposite him.

"Come on, Bones doesn't _do_ family, you know that." But his mind couldn't help recalling memories from the night before, memories that proved she could indeed fit into a family.

"Ouch." Angela winced. "A little harsh, Boothy. She tries."

He sighed, regretting his defensive remark. "I know. Sometimes she does pretty well."

"So after dinner…?" she pressed hopefully.

"I dropped her off at her apartment and then went home with Parker. And now here we are, two dead guys later."

"What a romantic morning-after." Her sarcasm was as evident on her face as it was in her voice.

"Booth!" called Brennan, hurrying into the room with Wendell in tow.

The artist and the agent turned quickly towards the doorway, surprised to see them so soon. It hadn't been more than ten minutes.

"What is it, Bones? You've got that excited 'new-discovery' look on your face."

And she did. Her startling gray-green eyes were bright and alive, her whole countenance was lit up by them. "We got an ID on the first victim, _and_ we know how the second victim died."

"Great, give me the specifics," he said with a grin, flipping open his notebook.

"Victim number one is named Lloyd Ellman, aged 31, from New Jersey. Cam was able to get a fingerprint off his other hand. The second victim we still don't have identity on, but while Mr. Bray was examining his exposed clavicle, he noticed tiny striations on the bone. I confirmed and determined it was caused by a single gunshot wound just above the throat, here-." She indicated near the hollow of her neck with one hand. "It would have severed the jugular. Death would have been very bloody."

Angela grimaced immediately at the imagery. "That was fast. So case closed? Lloyd Ellman kills John Doe and John Doe kills Lloyd Ellman?"

"Not quite," said Wendell. "Hodgins will have to confirm with the Mass Spec, but we didn't find any evidence of gunpowder on Lloyd Ellman's hands. We believe there was a third party."

"It was probably self-defense," muttered the artist. "The guy probably came after this third party person when he got caught beating Lloyd to death."

"Ange, Cam told you to stay objective. You know how I feel about that kind of conjecture. It's just story-telling at this point. We have no evidence." Brennan's voice was soft but reproachful.

"I'm sorry, Sweetie, but I just can't feel bad for a dead murderer. I can't."

"Just work on getting that picture restored, alright?" Booth said quickly before Brennan could respond. He turned to his partner. "So, what do you want to do? You want to stay here and keep working or do you want to go with me to talk to people who knew Lloyd Ellman?"

"Well until Cam has finished, I don't have much to do that Mr. Bray can't handle."

Wendell glanced at Angela, encouraged by the idea of his superior leaving. As awkward as it was having everyone else know, he simply could not get comfortable enough to be affectionate toward Angela while Dr. Brennan was around. Maybe it was because she was her best friend, but more likely it was because she was still his teacher and mentor and supervisor.

But Angela wasn't looking at him. She was watching the exchange between Brennan and Booth with determined fixation.

"Alright, well let's swing by the Hoover to see what contacts my team can dig up," Booth suggested, pocketing his small notebook again. He turned back to Angela. "So, we're good, right? You don't have to deploy any of your rumors of mass destruction, right? I gave you what you want?"

She smirked knowingly. "Well, it's not really what I want, but it's what I asked for so yeah, you're off the hook…for now."

Brennan gave both of them an inquisitive look, which they both chose to ignore. Wendell seemed likewise confused.

"Alright, well then if things are squared away here, let's get going, Bones." Booth gave Angela and Wendell a brief nod, lightly redirecting his partner with a touch on the small of her back. Brennan responded to the familiar motion and exited a few steps ahead of him.

Wendell turned back to Angela after they had gone. "What was that all about?"

She half-smiled and stood, brushing past him to return to her computer. "Oh nothing, just ferreting out information from Booth."

He trotted after her. "What information?"

"I don't think it would be appropriate to share." Or rather, she wasn't willing to share.

Wendell was one of Dr. Brennan's top grad students, which was why he'd gotten a position as one of the rotating interns in the lab, meaning he was very intelligent. Unlike most of the others, however, he was not socially impaired by his intelligence. In fact, he was really rather normal, perhaps the most so out of any of the squints in the lab besides Angela. It was the reason Booth liked him better than the others, and the reason why Dr. Brennan sometimes underestimated his capabilities. What it meant at the moment, though, was that he could clearly recognize that something was not quite right about this interaction with his girlfriend. So he approached, slipping an arm around her waist to draw her in close to him.

"Is everything okay?"

Angela kept her gaze trained on her screen. "Fine," she responded. "I just really need to focus on getting this photo restored. It'll help us ID John Doe. Don't you need to go assist Cam or something?"

The dismissal was painfully clear. He frowned, pulling away from her again. "I suppose I can go try to determine the full extent of Lloyd Ellman's injuries."

"Good." She glanced at him, but her smile was forced.

"So I'll still see you at lunch, right?"

"No, actually. I'm meeting with Avalon."

"Oh." He retreated slowly, reluctant to part with her behaving so strangely. "Well, after work then."

"Sure." She watched him go, an ugly feeling of discomfort rising inside her. She shouldn't have been quite so cold, especially since she didn't even know _why_ she wanted him gone. Ever since the pregnancy scare, things had not been the same between them. He still didn't know about that, and she wasn't about to tell him.

Sighing, she focused back on the screen. Something else to talk to Avalon about. Lately, it was feeling more and more like her life was slowly unraveling out of her grasp, and she couldn't find the end of the string to stop the process. Nothing felt right. She was restless, needing to make a change, but without knowing what change she should make. _That_ was why she needed a psychic, though it wasn't what she would have told Hodgins when he asked.

____

"I hate this part of the job," she muttered quietly as the SUV pulled up to a small rambler home.

"You can handle rotting corpses, but not grieving people." He had sometimes scoffed at the irony, but today the statement fell with a heavier thud.

"Remains don't expect me to comfort them, to make the pain of their loss go away." She reluctantly unbuckled her belt and jumped out before he had a chance to come around and get the door for her.

"Lloyd Ellman's parents deserve to know what happened to their son, and it's our job to tell them," Booth explained patiently as they walked towards the door. Sometimes with her it was like being on a carousel. They'd been around this conversation a hundred times.

"Technically, it's your job. Mine is primarily with skeletal remains."

He shot her a mildly irritated glance. "Then why are you here with me now instead of leaning over those two moldy bodies back at the lab?"

"Well, we're partners." She frowned.

"Exactly." He knocked on the door in four sharp raps.

Brennan shifted her weight to the other foot, fighting the writhing sensation of extreme discomfort in her stomach. She dreaded this part the most of any case. No matter how many they worked, it never got better.

"Did Parker have a good time last night?" she asked quietly, hoping to distract herself.

Booth glanced at her. "Yeah, he did, thanks. And thanks for, you know, helping him wash his hair. I appreciate it."

"It was actually quite pleasant," she replied with a small smile. "He is a very engaging child."

They heard footsteps and a moment later the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged woman who seemed a little put out that she was made to come to the door. Her hair was frizzy and coarse, seemingly having suffered too many bleaches. Her face was weathered; the face of a woman who has known some sort of struggle all her life.

"Good afternoon. Are you Mrs. Ellman?" Booth greeted.

The woman frowned deeper. "Yeah, who are you?"

"Special Agent Seely Booth with the FBI. This here is my partner, Dr. Temperence Brennan. We'd like to take a moment to talk to you about your son Lloyd, if you have a minute."

"Oh for the love of-," she cut her cuss off short, stepping aside. "Fine, come in."

They walked into the small house, hit immediately with the familiar smell of one who dwells among the lower classes of society. It was the smell of old carpet, of tacky décor, of cigarette smoke, and of one-too-many cats. The home was dimly lit and a small TV blared some kind of cold-case crime show.

"What did the little turd do this time?" she asked gruffly.

"Mrs. Ellman, is your husband home? It would be good to speak to you both together." Booth already knew her husband didn't work. His truck was parked around the side of the house, and the file said he was collecting disability benefits.

"Fine, I'll go get him," she snipped. "Please, have a seat."

She disappeared down the narrow hall, one of the feline culprits leapt out at her feet as she passed. Brennan and Booth observed the love-seat, covered with cat hair. They glanced at once another. Brennan's revulsion was clear.

"I would have pegged you for a cat person, Bones," Booth said with a grin.

"I prefer dogs," she said immediately. "Are you going to sit? I'm not. I'll remain standing."

"I'm not sitting on that either." They made sure to keep their voices low. "Just be kind. Remember why we are here."

It took over ten minutes for the surly Mrs. Ellman to return, this time with her husband in tow. He was a man befitting his wife. "What's this about?" he grumbled at the two visitors. "What's with the suits?"

"Sir, I'm Agent Booth from the FBI. This is my partner, Dr. Brennan. We have some news about your son Lloyd."

"Yeah yeah. Just tell me his charges and how much they're wanting for bail. I'm surprised they got the FBI involved this time."

Again, Booth and his partner exchanged a glance. These two unfriendly parents, acting so jaded towards their son's misdeeds, would not be the same people two minutes from now.

Booth cleared his throat. "It's not like that. You see, we found some human remains that we have identified as your son."

It was silent for a full second, and then suddenly it was as if all the wind had been sucked from the room. Brennan felt a painful twisting somewhere inside her, but she couldn't look away while horror fell over the parents' faces. It was a very familiar scene, she'd seen it a hundred times at least, but as much as she hated it, the tragedy of it all still gripped her.

"Are you sure?" squeaked the mother.

"Yes. Fingerprint analysis correlate with your son's," said the anthropologist softly. "We're so sorry."

"Lloyd's remains were found with those of another man. When you're ready, we'd like to ask you about who Lloyd associated with." Booth's own voice was quiet, understanding, tentative.

Mrs. Ellman let out a moaning kind of wail and turned into her husband, burying her face against his shirt while tears flooded her face. Her husband wrapped his arms around her, cradling her with tenderness they would not have supposed he possessed one minute ago. "It's probably our other son. Patrick. The boys were always together. Always."

"Facial architecture suggest the second victim was not related to your son in any capacity," replied Brennan quickly. She noted the name, however, since it seemed likely to be the identity of their third party.

"Mr. Ellman, how long have your sons been missing?" asked Booth.

The man passed a trembling hand over his face. "We didn't know they were. They were adults, you know. They had to make their own decisions. We told the boys they couldn't live here anymore. They got into serious drugs, got into a lot of trouble. We kicked them out and rarely heard from them. How long has Lloyd…?"

Brennan wondered if he really wanted to know the answer. "At least a month."

Mrs. Ellman stirred, pulling her face away long enough to give them a hard look. "Did she say _victim_ a moment ago?"

Booth sighed. "Yes. We believe Lloyd and the other man were murdered."

Brennan shot him a reproachful look. That statement was misleading, and anything less than the truth irked her. The truth was that the other victim most definitely murdered their son. Why shouldn't they know that?

But implicit, learned trust in his methods stayed her tongue and kept her from correcting him.

"Murdered," repeated Mrs. Ellman, her face crumpling again. There was such clear agony there, an agony Brennan herself did not know and could not relate to. She looked away.

"Where is Patrick?" demanded Mr. Ellman in a husky voice.

"We were hoping you would have some idea of that, actually," said Booth. "We would like to talk to him, for obvious reasons."

Brennan returned to the information they were hoping to find. "Mr. Ellman, did either of your sons have any very tall, very broad friends? This would have been a Caucasian man about your son's age who would have appeared remarkably tall."

"No," whispered the mother. "They didn't."

"Trish, we don't know that," hissed her husband softly. He glanced up at met their inquiring stares. "We have no idea who they would have associated with on the street."

"It was those drugs!" wailed his wife with pained vehemence. "Those drugs got my boys killed. Those men who deal them, the people who do them. They killed my babies!"

"That is actually a likely scenario," said Brennan with grim surprise. She didn't suspect the mother was the kind of woman to make intuitive leaps like that.

"Bones," shushed Booth with a frown. He turned back to the parents. "Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Ellman. We'll keep you updated."

The pair retreated towards the door, a little relieved to be going so quickly. Some of their relief stemmed from escaping the home, but most of it came from escaping the grief. They were eager to get away, to continue their investigation, to leave the parents to their newfound sadness.

"Agent Booth," said Mr. Ellman suddenly.

Both partners turned back.

The man's hands were shaking and he looked both enraged and on the brink of tears. "You find my son. You find Patrick. And then you bring my boys home."

"I'll do my best, sir," Booth promised softly.

____

Back in the car, there was a distinct sense of disappointment. They were silent for a good portion of the drive. Years of experience had taught them there wouldn't be much hope in this situation. If it was as the Ellmans said and their sons were deep in the drug world, the murders were probably drug-related and therefore difficult for them to trace.

"We may never find Patrick Ellman," Brennan said quietly.

"I know." Booth kept his eyes on the road. He felt his mood sinking further and further. "How come yesterday was such a great day, and today is turning into a trip down the toilet bowl?"

She wrinkled her nose at the metaphor, but glanced at him curiously at the first half of the remark. "Yesterday was a great day?"

"Yeah." He was suddenly unsure of himself. "Wasn't it a good day for you too?"

"Yes." She smiled.

But the good feeling recalled by the memory was fleeting. They still had two dead men at the lab to deal with. The weight of them was heavy in their minds, impossible to ignore. After so long of doing this, neither of them would be able to simply back out and leave questions unanswered. That wasn't what they or their team did.

"I'm going to see what I can dig up on the Ellman boys, see if I can't find Patrick anyway," murmured Booth.

Brennan nodded once. "Take me back to the lab. I'm going to focus on the second victim, find out who he is and see where that path leads us."

"We can't give up hope yet. We'll find out what happened to these men."

"I know." She half-smiled, but it was weak. "We always do."

* * *

_{Okay, next chapter will be up ASAP! And I think you guys are really gonna like it. And don't worry, this case will get WAY more interesting soon, and way more meaningful. Also coming up: yay for Avalon! :D}_


	5. Chapter 5

_{Next chapter! Yay! 8D You guys with your reviews are so awesome. They make me want to write faster to repay your kindness! Alrighty, so here's a little bit of Avalon foreshadowing what's to come. A fairly short chapter, but don't worry, the next will be up soon. Also, just as I don't know much about forensics, I am not an expert in Tarot cards either. On both accounts my knowledge is limited. But you know, it's just fiction, so whatever right?}_

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Sunlight flooded the park with distant light, warming the air and brushing away the memories of cold winter. It broke over the surface of the pond in a thousand sparkling diamonds and tickled the skin of the people out enjoying the rays. Angela was one of these people. She sat at a picnic table, her head tipped back, eyes closed. She was calm, breathing in the fresh scents of the outside world. It was such a beautiful contrast to the lab. In there, things were sterilized and cold, or dead and decaying. Out here there was _life_.

"Angela, you're early," said a familiar voice, her accent bespeaking a heavy New York origin.

Angela opened her eyes, greeting her psychic with a relaxed smile. She stood and leaned over the table to give her a quick hug. "Yeah, sorry. I just had to get away from work today. How are you?"

"I'm doing alright," replied the blond-haired woman honestly. She was modestly pretty, a few years older than Angela, and dressed rather well for someone of her trade. "How are you?"

"I'm… well, I don't know how I am. I'm good, I guess, but also not good." It wouldn't do any good to give her a canned answer. With Avalon, the truth was best. She'd figure it out eventually anyway.

Avalon got out her cards and began to shuffle them. "What's been going on?" she asked conversationally.

"I don't know. I just don't feel… It's like something is missing. Something is not quite right. It's messing with my head and ruining my relationship with Wendell and I could really use your help."

"Say no more. I am at your service. We'll see what the cards tell us today." She indicated to the tarot cards. "Ready?"

Angela sat up straight and took in a deep breath. A tiny, persistent voice in her head stirred. It was a voice that was born out of being best friends with an empiricist. It asked her if she really believed in this stuff, or if she only _wanted_ to believe in this stuff. She angrily chose to ignore it. "I'm ready."

Avalon turned over a card. It was the Fool, which caused Angela to frown slightly. "You're unsure of yourself," said the psychic. "You're ready to make a new beginning, but you're not sure how to begin."

She flipped over another. The Empress. "Your life is content. You have love, and it is safe, mild, stagnant. Your world is beautiful a peaceful, but it has become your prison."

Next came the Wheel of Fortune. "A great change is coming, a change that will shake your safe, stagnant world and cause you to find what you feel is missing. This change will not include yourself alone, but will in fact be so great that it will include the lives of the people close to you."

The next card revealed was Justice. "You have a new puzzle to solve, a new wrong to make right."

"A new case," said Angela eagerly, her eyes wide, devouring this every word.

"Yes," replied Avalon. "A case that will remind you how the past affects our future."

Angela shook her head. "Wait, wait. You're saying this new case will be the catalyst for all the change that's coming?"

Avalon's gaze lifted to hers, boring into her with that clear, steady intensity that spoke of certain knowledge. "Yes, that is what the cards are saying."

The next card she flipped over was the Ten of Cups. "There is a child that is waiting to come to you."

Angela flushed immediately. "What? No, no Cam retested it. It was negative. Check the cards again, that one is wrong."

A smile twitched at the corner of the psychic's mouth. "A child waits, wanting to come to you, ready to be yours. With that child is also waiting great happiness. An idyllic life, one you will never tire of. Better than the one you have now, and never a prison."

"What does that have to do with the case? And with whom am I supposed to share this great life?" She felt strange. Something inside her leapt with hope at the thought of a baby. It was the opposite of reaction when she thought she might actually be pregnant.

The Hanged Man was the last card. "The answers to your deepest questions you will have to find yourself. Let this case speak to you, let yourself learn from it, and then search for the answers within. Angela, your life is waiting for you. You already know the answer. Let this new case reveal what is hidden."

Angela sat back, her head spinning. So much to think about. "This case is not going to just affect me, you said? It'll affect everyone?"

"Yours will not even be the most dramatic change," replied the blond woman.

"Sheesh. And I thought we were just dealing with two thugs who beat each other to death." She still couldn't imagine how those two dead men on the autopsy tables could invoke this kind of deep, life-altering change. Maybe they were the bodies of two very important men and everyone working the case was about to be propelled into super-stardom.

____

Later, back at the lab, Hodgins was quietly working away, identifying various particulates found on the two bodies. He was calm, methodical, trying to work without letting his mind wander too many places. Brennan was back, which meant Wendell was working away with her instead of wasting his time with Angela. That made it easier to concentrate.

He carefully slid a sample under the microscope and peered in. The geometric shapes and other-worldly colors were familiar to him. This was his safety zone. Facts, results, discovery. Like Brennan, he wrapped himself in a world of empirical pursuit, taking comfort in all things rational. It was why he and his boss got along so well, why they were close. It was why, together with Zack, they had formed the trifecta of logic and reason. Without Zack, the triangle was unstable. The Jeffersonian was getting to be a place he didn't recognize anymore. Angela had been there from the beginning, so he didn't mind her. She was emotional, irrational, very much the odd one out from the very start. Then came Booth, whose instinct and intuition drove the empiricists crazy. Still, they had adapted to his illogical methods because it got them results.

With the arrival of Cam came a whole new era for the Jeffersonian. Instead of being under the sole jurisdiction of their fearless leader Dr. Brennan, ever the teacher and scientist, they were now subjected to the more focused rule of this jaded coroner out of New York. She narrowed their view from grand intellectual discovery to forensic-relevance. There were serious growing pains during that time of transition, and it effectively solidified their loyalties to Brennan. Now, however, things ran smoothly and Cam, with her blinders and concentration was an integral part of the team. She was not like Brennan and Hodgins and Zack, but rather a little closer to Angela and Booth's kind. And then Zack left. Now the forces of 'gut-feeling' and ephemeral emotions outnumbered the purely rational minds. Then Booth integrated Sweets into their team. However appreciative Hodgins was of the occasional advice, Sweets was another source of irrational feeling-centered mumbo jumbo.

The interns who rotated in and out were somewhere in the middle. Some, like Mr. Nigel-Murray leaned a little more toward science, but with too many bizarre facts to be a true empiricist. And some, like Wendell and Fisher, were a balanced mix of both. Daisy was just a confusing mess of way too many emotions tangled with a dash of scientific inquiry.

Sometimes it was lonely. Brennan was frequently out pursuing the case with Booth, leaving Hodgins to stand alone as an island of reason in an ocean of crazy.

A folder was dropped onto his desk, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up from the microscope to see Cam standing over him.

"I need you to give that to Angela," she said.

Hodgins gave her an odd look, frowning at the folder. "Why do you need me to do it?"

"Because I have to get on a collaborative call with the FBI forensics team," she muttered. It hadn't taken long after she'd been here for Cam to fall on their side of the forensic divide. The Jeffersonians versus the Bureaucrats. Booth was the only neutral territory, although sometimes they all suspected he favored the Jeff. After all, the Squints got the better results. "And Angela will ask me about what's going on with Michelle and I really don't need to get into that conversation right now."

"Fine," he sighed, picking up the folder. "By the way, I found traces of lady's perfume on our second victim's clothing. I still haven't traced what kind yet."

"Good work. Let me know when you have something."

After she had gone, he released a heavy sigh. He was comfortable with Angela, he didn't mind going to see her, he just didn't savor the opportunity to do so when Wendell was around. Especially since her pregnancy scare, when he confessed to still loving her and offering her anything and everything she wanted, he felt a little awkward being around them. He didn't know how much she had told Wendell, and how much she didn't.

___

Angela was back in her office, listening to music while she worked. She sat at a table, across from the cleaned skull of the second victim. Brennan had put a few tissue markers on it for her, but she didn't really need them anymore. She had been doing it long enough now that she had an instinct for it. She studied the gentle arcs of the cheek bones, her pencil tracing long lines on the paper. Her eyes traveled the shape of his jaw, the placement of his eyes, the size of his nasal cavity. She traced softly, reverently.

Even when the architecture of the face was drawn, she continued to glance at the skull for reference. Even when she was adding highlights to the eyes and hair on his head, she continued to look at that blank, face-less shape. It spoke secrets to her, even when there was no physical evidence.

Hodgins watched her for a moment from the doorway, recognizing the familiar tenderness in her expression as she worked. She deferred to the skull with great respect, and no doubt that respect would come out in her drawing. Dr. Goodman had once said hers was the most important job of all, and Hodgins secretly agreed. She wasn't so different from Brennan, actually. They both looked at empty bones and saw a person. Angela found the person in the decay, and Brennan found their story to tell. Maybe that was why, despite being complete opposites, they were so very close. It was an unspoken bond, probably realized by neither party. They found the people who were lost.

Finally she sat back, observing her work. Hodgins cleared his throat and walked in.

She glanced at him, surprised. "Oh, hey. Come here, look. This is the man, this is our John Doe."

He peered over her shoulder. "He looks kind, Angie. I thought you hated him for murdering the Lloyd Ellman."

"I did." She seemed perplexed herself, and a little subdued. "But I don't think he was a bad person anymore."

The man was very striking, with a handsome face and compelling, intense eyes. He seemed gentle, yet troubled. Hodgins was once again surprised how should could learn so much about a man just by staring at his skull.

"We'll find out what happened to him," Hodgins promised her, knowing instinctively how it would bother her now that she had seen his face.

"I know," she replied. "I just can't imagine what it could be. It's gotta be something huge."

"Why?" He gave the skull a curious look. "I thought Dr. B and Wendell already determined he died from a gunshot wound?"

She swiveled in her seat to face him, her eyes bright. She was eager to share with him what had happened at lunch. "Avalon said this case would change our lives."

He was taken aback, and it showed in his astonishingly blue eyes. "Come again?"

"Yeah, she said this case would shake up the lives of everyone involved! Can you even imagine what it could be?"

"Nope," he laughed. "What else did she say?"

She thought of the part about a baby waiting for the right time, and her cheeks colored a little. Her long, dark lashes shaded her eyes when she looked down with a private, secret smile. "Nothing."

The entomologist thought about pressing her for the answer she obviously didn't want to give, but suddenly he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Okay then. Cam wanted me to give this to you."

She took the folder and flipped through it without interest. "Thanks."

A brief silence lapsed between them. They both glanced back at her drawing. Finally he cleared his throat, realizing he didn't have any reason to be there anymore. "Alright. I'm going back to my particulates." And to his solitude.

"Wait-," she said suddenly.

"What's up?" he asked, turning back to her again.

She fussed with the corner of the notebook a little. "Have you found anything interesting in the particulates yet?"

He grinned. She was so readable to him. How many times had he seen that look on her face, when she didn't want him to leave? How many times had his heart warmed at that thought? "I found some ladies perfume on the clothes of John Doe, and some Barbassol on his face. Lloyd Ellman just had a lot of street grime on him. I'm still analyzing that."

"Shaving cream," she noted with a grin, indicating to her portrait. "Maybe I should give him a little bit of facial hair then. What do you think?"

"He shaved," laughed Hodgins. "I think he would want to be remembered without stubble."

____

At the end of the first day, this is what they learned: One, that Lloyd Ellman was beaten to death one month and three days ago. The fatal blow was delivered to the side of his skull, causing his inner ear to shatter and for his brain to hemorrhage. Two, the second man was shot in the throat by a poorly aimed small caliber firearm. Three, Lloyd Ellman had evidence of _significant_ drug usage in his system at the time of death, including a variety of different illegal and prescription drugs. Four, the second man's tox-screen came back completely clean. There was no evidence of any drug usage whatsoever, including ever any prescription medication. Five, they knew what the second man looked like, but not his name.

That was all on the Squints end, headed by Brennan. Booth had less success. He managed to determine the vague area where Patrick Ellman was _likely_ staying, but not specifically where. And as was typical of that kind of neighborhood, canvassing the locals only got them a lot of stoned nonsense.

Despite her team's success, Brennan had not yet learned the identity of the second victim and she was keenly discouraged by Booth's failed efforts as well. Later that evening at the diner, there was a noticeable change in the general mood of the two partners from the day before. The young, incorrigible Dr. Sweets had joined them and noticed their malaise right away.

"Bad day, today?" he asked.

He sat next to Dr. Brennan, who sat across from Booth. She had her chin propped in her hands, idly picking at her food. Her partner, meanwhile, ate silently, determinedly.

"You guys get a new case?" tried the young psychologist when neither of them responded.

Brennan glanced at him, her smooth brow furrowing just a little. "When are you going to let us read a copy of your book?"

"What?" he asked, startled by the deflect-tactic. "I wasn't… uh, wait, what? You expect me to let you proofread my book before it's published?"

"You're just going to publish a book about _us_ before we even get a chance to approve it?" Booth asked, dark brow lifting. He acted stern, but he was mildly amused to see the kid squirm in discomfort.

"Approve what?" Sweets defended, trying not to be intimidated by the look the alpha male was giving him. "You don't get to approve anything! Dr. Brennan here wouldn't believe a word I said in it anyway, since she thinks my work is a soft, nonsensical science. And you! You mock half of what I say, so why would I let you manhandle it before it has a chance to be born? No way, man. You two will get to read the book and find out its secrets after it's published, just like the rest of the world."

Brennan chuckled in spite of her dark mood. "His logic is, for once, quite reasonable. I wont believe what he says in it and you would probably just ridicule it."

Booth saw no such humor. "Reasonable? No, Bones, okay? What if I don't want the world to know something about me before I know it myself?" Or what if he didn't want _her_ to know something about him before he wanted her to know?

"Ah-hah!" Sweets said triumphantly. "So you _do_ believe in my insights?"

"Well, he's constantly bringing you our case files and dragging you along with us wherever we go to profile suspects." Her tone made it clear exactly what _she_ thought of his insights. "So it follows that yes, he believes in you."

"Yeah, okay, thanks Bones. Look, Sweets, I just want to know what you say about us before you make it public. Too much to ask?"

The young psychologist sat back in his seat, looking smug. "You know what? Yes, it is. I'm sorry."

"Our case is not going well," sighed Brennan.

Both men gave her an odd glance. Her unexpected revelation had not followed even a second of silence. The moment Sweets' thought ended, hers picked up. It was strange timing for an even stranger remark.

"What?" she asked, affronted by their expressions. "I thought we were having a conversation. I'm just taking it somewhere else since the book subject seems closed."

"Okay," said Sweets with newfound patience. "Well you've only been working on it one day, haven't you?"

She didn't hesitate a moment. "Yes, but usually we make more progress on the first day. Besides, this case is not a very informative one. It's the kind of case that makes me miss ancient remains and historical discovery. It's a drug case."

"Ah."

Booth snorted, causing him to choke on his water. "Ah? Ah, what? You say it like you understand, as if that explains everything, but do you even know anything about drug cases?"

The younger man was completely unsurprised by the other's skepticism. Unsurprised, but still vaguely irked. "Yes, I do. If this is due to drugs, it is very likely you will never catch the murderer. The people who exist in that world exist largely off the grid. Even if you identify the killer, that doesn't guarantee you can ever locate him. The hopelessness of the situation is probably causing a serious inner conflict for you both."

The two partners stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment. They glanced at one another, some kind of understanding passing between them. As usual, their unspoken communication irritated the psychologist.

"Oh, come on. What?" he demanded.

Out of all his patients, out of all the couples and partners therapy he had conducted, these two were some of his most infuriating. They had a very unique relationship. Constructed between them was this alternate reality, a completely other plane where they related to one another. It excluded everyone else and was so complex and obscure in its design that he could not penetrate it. Within this world existed their joined minds. It was where they had all the secret stuff that allowed two opposites to be so intimately connected with one another (without being literally intimate). Normally the facial, physical cues that gave people away were clear to him, but when they passed between the partners they were so fast and so quickly understood that he didn't have a chance to analyze.

Obviously, for this reason he was frequently frustrated.

"Nothing, Sweets," murmured Booth. "Way to boost our confidence in the case there."

He sighed. "Look, you guys may have to accept that some cases are just unsolvable."

Every cell in Brennan's body screamed in rage against this idea. She had to bite her cheek to keep from growling aloud, but her expression said it loud enough.

"However," he continued, cowed by the rage in her clear eyes, "That may not be _this_ case. Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, you guys are the central cogs in a very powerful machine. Don't doubt the ability of that machine. I'm certain that if you decide you want to solve this case against all odds, you will be able to do it."

They considered that briefly, silently. Sweets grit his teeth when again they glanced at one another, but this time they shared the thought aloud. "I like the sound of that," said Booth with a half-smile.

Brennan's smile was crooked too, but had an unusually impish quality. "Do you consider yourself part of our machine, Sweets?" she asked carefully.

Slightly flummoxed at having been caught, he cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. "Uh, yes, I consider myself a piece of the machine. Though maybe a small…less important piece."

She grinned, putting her hand on his arm affectionately. "I think you are a piece too. Maybe a sometimes useless, inconsequential piece that exerts a lot of unnecessary energy, but an appreciated piece just the same."

Booth's gaze was pulled to that simple, sweet gesture. A little, uncontrolled part of himself wished he were in Sweet's place right now, receiving that favored touch. A bigger part of him, however, felt something akin to sadness. Sadness for her, because it was a gesture so reminiscent of the way she used to show her affection towards her strange little protégé, Zack. There was a void in her world without him. As much as Booth disliked the kid, he missed him because she missed him. Sweets couldn't fill that void, but maybe it helped just a little that they had him around. Book or no book.

When he met her gaze this time, the thought that passed silently between them made both partners grin a little. They both suspected that perhaps his piece of their machine was shaped like a baby duck.

* * *

_{Fluffy fluffness. Haha gotta love it. As always, read and review. 3 Next chapter will be up soon! Maybe later this evening, maybe tomorrow. Check back soon!}_


	6. Chapter 6

_{Okay, people, I am SO sorry for the delay in getting this one up!! The holiday weekend was pretty busy for me and it kind of threw off my momentum with this story. Anyway I'm back in it and hopefully I'll get the next chapter up tonight! In the meantime, here's this one. Mind you, if you're following this story for the cute/fluffy moments this may not be your favorite chapter, but trust me, you're going to LOVE the next one. This is some more wind-up for our more dramatic scenes coming up later.}_

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_

"Hey, Bones, come on, let's go." Booth strode into her office, snapping down the screen of her laptop on which she was typing.

"Booth!" she started to protest, but stopped when she saw him. Her nose wrinkled. "Why are you dressed like a homeless man?"

And he was. He had on a very grungy pair of worn out jeans, stained and soiled and smelly. Likewise on top he had a tattered shirt covered by an oversized jacket that looked as if it needed to be washed three months ago. He wore a hole-riddled baseball cap and hadn't shaved this morning so a dark layer of stubble shadowed his jaw. He smelled ripe, and she rolled her chair away from him to escape the assault to her senses.

"Don't you even remember our conversation this morning?" he said impatiently. "I went under cover to find Patrick Ellman."

She remembered. She had tried to insist on coming with him – going under cover was irresistibly interesting. For reasons she did not comprehend, he had absolutely refused. Now, seeing him dressed like that, surrounded with stink, she was glad she hadn't gone. "Did it work?" she asked skeptically.

"Yeah. That's why we need to _go_. We found Patrick, I'm going in to question him now."

"Looking like that? Booth, he's not going to tell you anything if he can't even breathe through his nose." She wasn't too eager to ride next to him in his car either, if she were being honest.

He didn't miss a beat. "I've got a suit to change into at the Hoover. Do you want to be there when I question him or not?"

"Yes, of course I do, but-,"

He cut her off by grabbing her hand and pulling her out from behind her desk. "Then _let's go_," he urged.

She pulled her hand away almost immediately, her skin crawling at the thought of touching anything that smelled so awful. "Can we ride with the windows down?"

He laughed mirthlessly. "You can stand the smell of rotting bodies, but not of clothes that haven't seen the inside of a washing machine for several months?"

"I hope it's just the clothes." She shot him a look. "I don't know where you got those but it's pretty disgusting that you're wearing them. A small percentage of human perspiration is urine, you know."

"Okay, that's great, Bones," he sighed sarcastically, leading her out into the lab. "Aren't there pheromones in sweat too? Does that mean you're secretly attracted to the smell?"

She awarded his boyish grin with a look that plainly said she thought he was out of his mind. "How would you know that?"

"Come on, I know things. You always seem so surprised…"

"Well, perhaps in small, tolerable doses those pheromones might result in attraction, but your clothes seem to have passed that point long ago. Besides, it's not _your _smell, it's the smell of whoever those really belong to."

He wondered idly if she could distinguish between his scent and the scent of other men. It was a nice thought, but he had his doubts.

"Who are you, and why are you kidnapping my best friend?" Angela joked when she saw them from her office.

"Very funny," Booth replied, but neither of them stopped to talk. He was in a hurry. They'd bought a little time for him to come get Brennan when they found Patrick. He was wired on multiple substances, so they had him on a saline drip to try sobering him up. Still, they didn't have all the time in the world before he got too tired to function. Apparently he'd been up for three weeks.

Their victory this morning had been due largely to Hodgins. He'd gone to the lab extremely early, frustrated as everyone else by the lack of progress made the day before. In his determination to find something, he discovered particulates on Lloyd Ellman specific to one specific drug-riddled neighborhood. He called Booth, whose bad mood at being woken so early was quickly turned to appreciation.

"Where did you find him?" Brennan asked when they pulled out of the underground lot.

"In a broken down car with a hooker. He's pretty wasted." Booth couldn't forget the haunted, manic look in the kid's eye. It was such a dark, tormented expression.

She glanced at him. "Does he know about his brother?"

"I think so. Look, Bones, when we get in there let me lead, okay?"

"Wh-? Don't I always?" She thought back to what Dr. Wyatt had said long ago, that the lab was her domain, and he deferred to her there, while the interrogation room was his, and she deferred to him. Why did he think today would be any different?

"Yeah, but I mean just be careful. This guy, he's really unstable. Heavy drug use like the Ellman boys have known really messes up your mind. We have to proceed with caution, you got it?" He looked over at her to make sure she understood.

She met his gaze with those honest, truthful eyes. "Yes."

He looked away again quickly, focusing on the road. She, however, didn't look away. Instead, a small frown tipped her mouth and her brow furrowed a little. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What is it, Bones?"

"Why wouldn't you let me come with you this morning?"

He laughed, surprised by the question. After all her complaints about the smell of his clothes and the talk of urine-filled sweat, she still wished she could have come? "Why does it matter?"

"Well because I want to know!" She said rather defensively. "Is it because you didn't want me there? Or maybe you thought it would be dangerous? If that's it I resent your reasoning – I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself, you know."

"Says the woman who got herself buried alive," he muttered.

"You were too," she fired back. "Perhaps not buried in the ground, but almost buried at sea."

"Look," he sighed, trying to access the reservoir of patience he had stored especially for her. "I didn't want you coming along this morning because let's face it, you're terrible at acting."

"I am not!" she cried.

"_And_," he continued. "Because you're too pretty to pass off as a street hawker. Okay? Face it, you couldn't have pulled off pretending to be an addict."

She thought about this for a moment, trying to decide if she was flattered he called her pretty, or annoyed he didn't think she could act. "I could have pretended to be a prostitute."

He choked, everything inside him rejecting the thought. "No, no way, not ever."

"Why?" she demanded.

Booth grit his teeth, fighting back the image of her dressed in skank heels and an all-too-revealing dress, one that plunged down her creamy skin to remind him of that sweet glimpse of her. He pictured her wandering around the neighborhood he would spend the rest of the day trying to forget. "Because the people in that place are creeps, okay? I don't want them looking at you like you're a piece of property for sale."

"Well, I kind of _am_ property," she noted in a deceptively reasonable tone. "Or at least that's how I get treated sometimes."

"What are you talking about now?" His patience was wearing thin.

"Well the FBI and the Jeffersonian treat me like I'm a valuable piece of equipment to be rented out and shipped around wherever there are skeletal remains. After I perform, I get paid for my services. The comparison is not so farfetched."

"Alright, you know what? This conversation is over." He slid on his sunglasses, pushing the accelerator a little faster. "You're not property, you're not a hooker, and nobody owns you. Let's just focus on the case. We good?"

"Fine," she sighed. "I don't know why topics like this always make you uncomfortable."

"Focus," he reminded her with a slight edge to his voice. If she were going to insist on topics like this, he was going to have to learn to drive a little faster.

__

Sober, they quickly realized, did not necessarily mean better. The moment they got into the room, Booth knew he would have to keep a wary eye on their suspect.

Patrick sat at the table, hands clenched together, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with rage. He looked like a man ready to rend the world in two. Booth suddenly wished he'd made his partner stay behind the mirrored glass.

"Oh good, here comes the inquisition squad," hissed Patrick with particular venom. "What torture can they inflict for my drug usage?"

"We're not here about that, Patrick," said Booth, sitting in one of the seats across from him. Brennan sat silently beside him.

Patrick glared at the metallic surface of the table. "Then why are you here?"

"Where's your brother at?"

He flinched as if he'd been physically struck. "I don't know." It was mumbled, almost incoherent.

Brennan glanced at Booth before speaking. "You don't know, or you don't want to say?"

"I don't know," snarled the addict. "You tell me. You found him or something?"

"Mr. Ellman, when was the last time you saw your brother?" asked Booth.

His knuckles were white with the force exerted to hold his hands together. He didn't look up at them. When he spoke, however, his voice was soft and pained. "Thirty four days, sixteen hours ago."

Brennan's brow lifted in mild surprise. "That is very specific."

"Yeah well, my brother and I were close. Never a day apart." His quiet voice grew even softer. There was a kind of deep, unspeakable pain in his eyes. Even to Brennan, who was not good at reading people, it was clear he would probably never recover losing his lifetime friend.

"What happened that day, Patrick?" Booth folded his hands together, his face solemn. "Why did Lloyd go missing?"

The suspect's grieved expression became resigned. "We went to talk to some guy, a trustee for my grandfather's money. The guy wouldn't give us a dime so we went back to the streets kind of mad. Got baked, nothing hard core. Mellow day for us. We called Jaynie and had some words until she hung up on us. The chick was super pissed. Lloyd said he was going to go talk to her face to face. He didn't come back. I called Jaynie that night, wanting to know where he went. She said she hadn't seen him." He made a sound of disgust. "I didn't buy it but by then I was in no condition to go confront her."

"There is a significant amount of that story missing," said Brennan, frowning with disapproval.

Booth agreed. "Yeah, okay, start at the beginning. Why'd you go see your grandfather's trustee?"

"To get our inheritance, idiots. Isn't it supposed to be your job to know that kind of stuff? Or do you just have this job for the sexy partners?" The look he gave Brennan was not a complimentary one, but rather a hateful, withering kind of look.

"Hey," growled Booth, leaning forward to draw attention away from his partner. "Focus. Who is Jaynie?"

"My lying, thieving cousin." Now the rage really began to show. His hands popped apart with a crack and he grabbed the edge of the table for support, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

"You should probably calm down," Brennan advised darkly. "Getting angry wont help your situation."

He stood up quickly and began to pace back and forth. He looked like a caged predator, restless, dangerous. Booth stood too, monitoring every movement. His senses were on high alert, and as he rested his hands on the table in front of him he coiled his muscles like a spring. At the slightest movement towards his partner, he'd take this agitated addict down.

"I'm _angry_," he said loudly, "because you guys have got me in here when that… that _whore_ runs around like a princess when she probably killed my brother!"

"We never said anything about your brother being dead," said Brennan, watching him with a kind of strange fascination.

He snorted, throwing her another condescending glare. "If he were alive, you wouldn't be involved, would you?"

"Alright, Patrick, just simmer down there." Booth didn't take his own advice. He didn't allow himself to relax for a single second. "We found record of your brother owning a small handgun, but it wasn't on him by the time we got there. Do you know where it is?"

"No," he replied immediately. "Lloyd was stupid to carry that thing around. Gives people the wrong idea, gets us in trouble with cops and gangs. It obviously didn't do much for protection either, did it? I never touched the thing. I saw what it did to him. When he had it in hand, he got reckless."

Brennan was momentarily drawn away from the interrogation when she began to notice Booth's behavior. It was oddly responsive to Patrick's every movement. He shifted imperceptibly when the suspect changed his direction, his eyes tracked him like a hunter. His shoulders were rolled forward, his back tight; his very well toned body was made to look even larger and more powerful by his positioning.

Patrick, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. His shoulders were hunched too, but not in a threatening way. Rather, they were hunched as would someone who is expecting a blow, a defensive kind of stance of someone clearly the inferior. He avoided eye contact with Booth, obviously resentful of his presence but cowed nonetheless. He raged vocally, but he was probably very intimidated by the agent.

It was a very literal display of an alpha male asserting himself. The show was so primitive, so obvious, it made her smile just a little to herself. Booth was clearly the alpha here, and Patrick was the wary, yet reluctantly submissive omega. But that didn't mean the danger was gone. Sometimes, if pressed to desperation, she knew that an omega could lash out wildly in a last-ditch effort to overthrow the alpha. This omega did _not like_ being the underling here.

Sometimes she found anthropology still alive and well in her day to day, and it made her feel comforted. Besides, she would secretly admit to herself that she liked feeling the safety of having a dominant, strong male as her partner.

"What is your cousin's name, Patrick?" Booth continued.

The addict calmed down a degree. He'd stopped pacing but he still trembled with anger and agitation. Maybe it was because he was actually sober for once. "Jaynie Lichter. She owns a coffee shop, The Corner Coffee. You'll always find her there. The slut's a workaholic."

"Great, okay. Well, Patrick, luckily for us you aren't going anywhere. We're going to have to detain you for twenty four hours."

"What?" cried the suspect, his eyes bulging. "Why? I didn't do anything!"

"Yeah, well we can't have you running away once you hit the streets again, can we?"

"You can't keep me here!" he roared, lunging forward recklessly.

Booth had him down pinned to the table in one swift movement. "You can't assault a federal agent, Patrick. That's going to cost you."

Brennan sat calmly in her seat, apparently only slightly surprised to find Patrick Ellman suddenly smashed into the table only inches away from her. "Did you know he was going to attack you?" she asked curiously as Booth snapped on a set of cuffs.

He glanced at her, keeping the man's face pressed against the cold table. "He's coming off some crazy stuff, so he's a little cranky right now. I figured it was only a matter of time until something set him off."

"Very interesting," she admitted. Then, leaning down so her face was nearer to the suspect's, she said, "Mr. Ellman, we're going to find your cousin and question her, but you should know that we already caught your brother's murderer. Now we're just trying to figure out who murdered _him_. You shouldn't try to attack us. It makes you look more guilty."

Patrick groaned into the metallic surface. It sounded like a half-sob. "I didn't kill anyone."

"Maybe you didn't, maybe you did." Booth stood him up again and led him out of the room into the arms of the agents waiting to take him in to custody.

The moment Patrick was gone, Brennan turned to him sharply, excitement in her eyes. "Booth! Did you pay attention to the coffee shop he named?"

"It was the shop where the bodies were at. Come on Bones, we've got to go talk to Miss Lichter."

___

"Angela says the photograph is almost done," Brennan announced, clicking her phone shut as they rounded the corner toward the coffee shop. "We're one step closer to finding out Victim Two's identity."

"That's good," replied her partner. "What about the others?"

"Hodgins analyzed the contents of the dirt beneath the victims and compared it to the particulates ground into the back of Lloyd Ellman's skull. While Lloyd and the second victim most certainly lay behind that dumpster the entire time they decomposed, that is not necessarily where they died. Lloyd, at least, was killed somewhere else and dragged behind the dumpster. It's possible that the scenario is the same with the second victim."

"Dragged?" He regretted the question the moment it was out. A sort of wariness immediately followed, knowing full well he didn't particularly care about how she knew got to that conclusion.

"Yes. There were stress fractures in his right elbow and shoulder, and micro-fractures along some of his ribs. The damage to the back of his clothing was consistent with dragging, as was the bruising on the back of his skull."

"But the second guy…?"

Brennan unbuckled as they pulled up. "Wendell is still examining him, but judging from my initial findings I doubt he will discover very many similar injuries. I do not think he was dragged."

"So what, the mystery person _carried_ the second victim and _dragged_ Lloyd to the spot behind the dumpster?" Booth's voice betrayed his skepticism. They'd seen a lot of murders, and he seriously doubted anyone would be stupid enough to be seen lugging around two dead men, trying to stuff them behind a dumpster – especially if that person were Jaynie Lichter, who Patrick seemed to think it was.

"I don't know that," she said, shooting him a glance that clearly indicated he ought to know better.

The Corner Coffee looked quite different from the day before. It still wasn't open for business, but the garrison of police cruisers and crime scene investigators were utterly gone. The back would still be taped off, but out in front it looked normal, albeit very quiet.

They found the door unlocked, despite the 'Closed' sign hanging on it. A tiny bell tinkled overhead when they walked in. The place was comfortably lit, mostly from the windows outside. There was the soothing smell of quality coffee brewing, indicating that there was indeed someone here.

"We're closed!" called a lilting voice from a room behind the counter.

"Ms. Lichter?" Booth replied, glancing around at the lounge-like décor.

The woman emerged from the back, carrying a heavy burlap sack. She was a small thing, with short blond hair that stuck out in a cute, pixie-like way. There was a pink bow fastened to one side, and she had a youthful, adorable kind of face that inspired friendship on the first meeting.

"Just a moment," she chirped, heaving her considerable load over to some shelves. It looked as it the bag might tip her backwards, but she managed to throw the momentum forward and successfully set it down.

Then, dusting her hands off, she turned around to face them. Her blue eyes were bright with interest. "Sorry about that," she said a little breathlessly.

"That looked very heavy for a woman of your size," replied Brennan.

Jaynie Lichter grinned. "It _was_ heavy, even probably for a woman of _your_ size."

It was true. Though Brennan was probably a good head taller than the petite woman, she didn't have much upper body strength to suggest her height would give her any more of an advantage. Brennan tipped her head in silent acknowledgement.

"Are you Ms. Lichter?" Booth asked, approaching the counter.

She glanced at him, then paused for a longer look, as if seizing him up. "Yes," she concluded after a moment. "That's me. May I ask who you two are?"

"I'm FBI Special Agent Seely Booth, this is my partner Dr. Temperence Brennan," he replied quickly, flashing his badge. "Mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"Is this about those bodies found behind the dumpsters? Not at all. I was wondering if I was going to get questioned about this. It is my shop, after all. Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Not for me, thank you." Brennan chose a stool at the counter next to Booth.

Booth accepted a hot cup from her. He glanced again at the burlap sack. "Don't you have anyone to help you with those bags?"

She flashed an amused look. "Is this part of your investigation?"

Brennan spoke for Booth before he had a chance. "No, he's just trying to make conversation before we question you."

This honest reply caught the girl off guard and she laughed. It was a pretty, musical sound. "Alright. Well then yes, usually I do have someone. My business partner, Landon White, helps me carry heavy supplies like that up from the storage room. He's been gone visiting his sister's new baby in Colorado for a while though. It's helping me build muscle, I guess."

"How long have you had this shop?" asked Booth, sipping at his coffee.

She pulled her own stool up to her side of the counter, sitting down on it in one fluid motion. "Landon and I started it about three years ago. It started out as something I could do to supplement my income, so I could have more time to write."

"I'm a writer too," said Brennan with interest. "Have you ever published anything?"

"Heavens no," laughed Jaynie. "This shop became my love and eventually writing fell to the wayside."

Booth looked up from his coffee, his gaze trained on her carefully. Now it was time for the real questions. "Miss Lichter-."

"Jaynie, please," she insisted.

"Can you tell us about the situation going on right now regarding your grandfather's trust?"

She was startled. "What? I thought this was about the bodies…"

"The trust fund," Booth insisted quietly.

She blinked a few times, her brilliant blue eyes dropping to her hands. "My grandfather was an extremely wealthy man. He knew how to play the stocks, had a lot of investments. He also knew the value of hard work, and he admired traits like honor and integrity in others. He was so proud of me the day I opened this shop. He told me I was going places. You know, my grandfather was a very honest man – sometimes too honest, and unashamed about it. He told me I was his favorite grandchild, because I had a good work ethic."

"I bet that made your cousins, Patrick and Lloyd, pretty mad," remarked Brennan, her brow lifting.

"Yes," she sighed. "Very mad. When Grandpa passed away three months ago, he left me ninety-percent of his funds, as well as all his assets. My cousins, meanwhile, were always a disappointment to him. He hated their drug habits and felt disrespected every time they spoke to him. He left them each one percent. The rest was left to our parents. "

"How much money are we talking here?" pressed Booth.

She flushed a little, the warm color spreading over her cheeks rapidly. "Please, Agent Booth, what does this have to do with anything?"

Booth knew, by this point, that there was no way this woman could have killed their second victim. The instincts he relied on so heavily, the ones that drove Brennan crazy, told him this girl was not capable of killing anyone. So he didn't feel any hesitation in relenting and giving her the reason for their line of questioning. "We've identified one of the bodies found behind the dumpster. It's your cousin, Lloyd Ellman."

Jaynie sucked in air sharply, gripping the counter top to steady herself. Pain flashed over her expressive face. "Lloyd?" she asked in a tiny voice.

Brennan, of course, had not picked up on Booth's impression of the girl. While she too was affected by Jaynie's natural charm, she didn't necessarily rule her out as a suspect. "On the day that Lloyd was murdered, he was supposed to come talk to you."

"Murdered?" she gasped further, a certain kind of horror transfixing her. "Murdered behind my shop? But _why_?"

"We were hoping you could tell us," said Booth. "Did you ever speak to Lloyd that day?"

Her little hands shook as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She didn't add anything to it. "The last time I spoke to Lloyd was on the phone, a little over a month ago. He and Patrick had just gone to the trustee. In his will, my grandfather stipulated that the boys couldn't have their money until they both had steady jobs and could pass multiple drug tests proving they were clean. I guess Pat and Lloyd didn't know this, because when they called me that day they were livid. They said a lot of terrible things. I got angry with them. I said some things I shouldn't have – I was just so sick of it, you know? When we were kids they would torment me because I was Grandpa's favorite. They've harassed me my whole life. I don't necessarily agree with Grandpa's favoritism, but it's not _my_ fault they screwed up so bad he didn't want to leave them a penny!" Her voice had begun to shake by the end. "I said some awful things that day on the phone, and they got even angrier. Eventually I just hung up on them."

"Lloyd said he was coming over here to talk to you after that phone call." Booth spoke quietly. "You never saw him that day?"

"No," she said truthfully. "He never came over."

Brennan watched her closely, though she didn't know what sort of facial cues she was supposed to be looking for. "When you came in the next morning, did you notice anything unusual? We believe Lloyd was killed sometime after you had closed for the day."

"No," she said. "When I came in, everything was normal. The back door was even locked."

"Did anyone else know about your argument with Lloyd and Patrick?" asked Booth.

She swallowed, nodding quickly. "I called my dad. I knew there wasn't anything he could do, I just needed to talk to someone, and I'm very close to my dad. My partner Landon also knew. He was here with me when the call came through."

Booth and Brennan glanced at one another. Jaynie caught it and said quickly, desperately, "Wait, don't jump to conclusions. Landon didn't kill Lloyd. He couldn't kill anyone. Besides, you said it happened at night. He left on a flight for Colorado that afternoon. He would have been gone by then."

"Are you and he in a relationship?" Brennan asked carefully.

"Are you?" she fired back at them quickly. Her expression was instantly contrite, avoiding the sudden hardness that had come into the anthropologist's gaze. "I'm sorry. It's just… everyone always assumed that we were. We were just business partners. Friends too, but partners first."

Booth pushed his empty cup away, standing and straightening out his jacket. "Was he going to benefit in any way from the money left to you by your grandfather?"

Jaynie shook her head. "No. I haven't touched any of it, and I'm not going to. The shop provides well enough for me. His assets will supply enough extra income I wont ever need to touch the rest. The only way Landon might have benefited is if I used any of it to improve the shop."

Brennan stood too. They had what they needed. Booth thanked her and paid her for the coffee. They were just about to leave when she stopped them.

"Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan. There were two bodies found back there… but you only talked about Lloyd. Was the second one… was… was it Patrick?"

The partners exchanged another glance. Finally Brennan spoke. "No. We have spoken to Patrick. He's alive and very upset about his brother. We have not yet identified the second man, but we do know that he killed Lloyd."

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes closing to the pain of it.

"We'll contact you again," Booth promised, leading his partner out of the shop.

___

Hodgins was the first to see the partners coming into the lab. A thrill shot through him at the look on his boss's face. Wendell was next to him, and when he looked up to see Brennan and Booth striding across the lab with specific purpose in their step, he was confused.

"What's going on?"

"I know that look," said Hodgins eagerly, jumping up from his computer. "They've made a discovery. I think she knows who the second victim is."

He and Wendell hurried after them, not wanting to miss a second of this. Brennan's face was hard, but her clear eyes had the light of knowledge in them. These were the moments they all savored the most. Booth was hard on her heels, his face set in calm determination. He knew her answer, and he agreed with it.

Cam saw the group trooping through the lab, and like Hodgins she recognized that a significant advancement in the case had been made. She hurried out of her office to join them.

When Angela turned around, she was startled to see Brennan and Booth, flanked by the rest of the team, flooding into her office. "Is this an intervention?" she laughed.

"Ange, can we see the picture?" Brennan asked, a small, excited smile breaking through her carefully set face.

"Yeah, it just finished rendering." She turned back to her computer, fingering her tablet in deft, swift movements.

Cam came around the other side of Hodgins, who was standing next to Brennan. "What's this about?"

"We know who the second victim is," Booth explained evenly.

The picture popped up on the screen. It was still slightly blurred, but the image was very visible. Everyone stared at it, expecting some kind of revelation. To Brennan and Booth, however, it was plain as day.

"Jaynie Lichter," breathed Booth.

"And that will definitely turn out to be her business partner, Landon," concluded Brennan.

It was a photograph of the tiny, sprite-like girl, laughing in front of a newly opened Corner Coffee. Around her waist was the arm of a tall, very strong, very handsome man with dark hair and a heart-melting smile. He was looking at her and grinning vaguely, as if he'd turned to watch her laugh just as the camera snapped.

"Angela…" said Hodgins, his eyes wide. "Your sketch…"

"I know," she sighed. She went to grab her sketchbook and flipped to the drawing she'd done the day before. It was a dead ringer for Landon, right down to the captivating eyes. "It's him."

"That is our second victim?" said Cam. "He doesn't look much like a cold-hearted killer who would beat a senseless addict to death."

"The senseless addict was threatening his partner," explained Booth in a low voice.

Angela glanced at Hodgins, her eyes growing wide. A chill raced down her spine and a kind of pain wrenched in her heart. "This is sadder than I thought," she whispered.

Hodgins remembered what she'd said about Avalon. This case would change their lives? He still didn't see how. Sure, it was sad, but nothing crazy out of the ordinary yet. "He died protecting her?"

"But who shot him?" asked Wendell.

"And why did Jaynie think he was in Colorado?" Booth wondered aloud, his brow clouding with puzzlement. "Wouldn't his sister have called when Landon never showed up?"

Brennan turned to face him. "I think you need to contact his sister."

"Man, they look so happy," said Angela sadly.

Wendell slipped to her side, gently intertwining his fingers with hers and giving them a squeeze.

"Are you going to notify Jaynie Lichter?" Cam asked Booth and Brennan.

They looked at her, and then at each other, and then at the photograph. It was difficult to think of seeing that lovely girl again, just to give her the further bad news that her business partner was dead and had killed her cousin.

"Maybe we should wait until we have something more substantial to tell her," suggested Brennan.

Booth saw the dread in her face. She didn't relish the idea of delivering that news at all, and neither did he. There was something deeply resonating about the way this story was shaping up. He wanted to flee. The impulse here was to run, to escape far and away from this case before the investigation led them to anymore truths. Obviously, he couldn't do that. Instead, he could simply agree with her and avoid the hard parts temporarily.

"Well then you go stare at the bones until they tell you the story while I contact Landon's sister," he sighed. "We're going to have to tell her sooner or later."

"I'd prefer later," she admitted. Then, turning abruptly, she said, "Mr. Bray. We should return to the remains."

Wendell jumped, yanking his hand away from Angela, startled. "Yes, Dr. Brennan. I found some anomalies I'd like your opinion on." He cleared his throat and hurried out of the office. Brennan gave Booth a parting glance and followed him.

Cam took Booth by the arm and led him away from Angela and Hodgins. She lowered her voice and he had to lean in to hear her. "Are you okay with this case?" she asked knowingly.

"What are you talking about, Cam?" His voice was flat.

She glanced back at the other two, making sure they were still out of ear shot. "You know what I mean, Seely. I mean your little secret. It doesn't take a genius like Dr. Brennan to realize where this case is headed. Different kind of partners, maybe, but partners nonetheless. He died protecting her…? Is this case going to be a problem for you? I can request Agent Perota if you're uncomfortable."

"Come on," Booth said with disgust. "Perota? No. I'm not some young teenage who can't handle his own emotions, Camille. I'm _fine_. It's just a case."

But she didn't seem very convinced. Before she could say anything else, he reminded her about the call he needed to make a stalked away rather impatiently.

Meanwhile Angela was still staring at the picture, her face shadowed with sorrow. "I think they loved each other."

Hodgins glanced briefly at the screen, then back to her. "Come on, Angela, you can't tell that from a photo. They were business partners."

"Yes, I can." She turned to him, grinning a little. "Don't you remember any of our pictures? People could tell."

"Yeah, but, come on Angie, that was _us_," he chuckled, inching closer to her. "We weren't ashamed to admit it. These two…if they are in love, as you say, then they'd be trying to hide it from each other. Maybe even themselves."

"Yeah but look," she replied, indicating at the screen. "He slipped. He clearly loves her in that picture. And she's probably laughing at something he said."

Hodgins didn't look at the screen. His gaze was locked with hers. "Pure conjecture."

"I'm all about conjecture, baby," she laughed.

They were very close now, only inches apart. If either of them had dared, they need only lean in a tiny bit to kiss the other. Instead, they realized their proximity and immediately separated. Hodgins cleared his throat, trying not to grin too widely.

"I'm going to go through both victims' clothing," he said with a small chuckle.

She nodded, turning back to the screen. "You do that." Her heart was beating a little faster than normal and her cheeks felt flushed. When his footsteps faded she swallowed hard, peeking over her shoulder to the place where he stood.

Maybe Avalon was right. When Wendell had taken her hand… she appreciated the gesture and it felt nice to have someone comfort her, but she didn't feel that thrill of excitement anymore. Her relationship with him was safe, comfortable, but something was off about it. Was that first card right? Was she ready to make a new beginning?

Her eyes flicked back to the screen. Were these two people, so happy and alive in this picture, the agents of that tremendous change?

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_{R&R, my lovelies? :D You make my muse soar with your nourishing thoughts. Thank you! Next chapter will be up either tonight or tomorrow. I hope.}_


	7. Chapter 7

_{Blegh. Sorry for the delay. I got super sick this past week and didn't feel much like writing. Anyway, we've reached lucky Seven! And this is the beginning of the changes. And thanks for the reviews on the last chapter! Some of them were so wonderful and thorough I wanted to shower you with love. Unfortunately I am only able to please through words, so hopefully this chapter pleases. At least it might make the shippers excited. :3}_

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Booth sat leaning back in his seat, his feet propped up on his desk. The curled phone cord was stretched to his ear where he loosely held a receiver, listening with rapt attention for the other end to be picked up. He fidgeted with a pen in his hand, his gaze tracking the other agents that milled passed his doorway from time to time. It was busy in the office today. They were dealing with another investigation, and while it was fairly important, it did not warrant his attention. Often, he was glad his exclusive association with Bones meant he got to investigate his own cases and be excused from some others.

_"Hello?"_ On the other end, a female voice picked up.

Finally. It was only the third time he'd tried, after all. "Yes, hello. Is this Miss Rosie White?"

_"Who may I tell her is calling?"_

He was prepared for this. They'd learned a bit about Landon's older sister in their brief search for her records. Apparently she had recently changed her number to avoid some ex-fiancé against whom she took out a restraining order. "This is Special Agent Seely Booth. I'm from the FBI. I have some information regarding her brother, Landon White."

_"This is her,_" she said quickly, immediately. _"Is everything okay? What's happened to Landon?"_

And so Booth had to explain to the woman, about his own age, that her brother had been found dead. The words were phrased more delicately, of course, but their impact was the same. No matter how artfully or respectfully the news came, it always meant the same thing in the end: 'your loved one is dead.' This time, there was more to tell, particularly that her brother had murdered someone else, but he chose to leave this out for now.

Through her gasp, her tears, and her resulting, profound silence, he could hear in the background the sound of a baby fussing. For some reason he couldn't identify, it made him uncomfortable. "Miss White, when you're able, I'd like to ask you a couple questions."

_"Ask them then,_" she said shakily. _"But first can you tell me if Jaynie knows?"_

He sat up, dropping his feet back to the floor and leaning over on his desk. "Jaynie Lichter, his business partner? No, we hadn't notified her yet. You are his first of kin."

_"Y-yes, of course. It's just that they were so close. I thought maybe…"_ but she didn't seem to have the emotional willpower to finish her thought. There was another silence. Then, a tired, _"Your questions?"_

"Right. Well Jaynie told us that Landon was going out to visit you last month, when your ba-aby was born," embarrassingly, he stumbled over the word, feeling it catch in his throat. An image of infant Parker flickered through his mind, followed by the unclear image of another baby- a baby who had her mother's very familiar eyes. He swallowed quickly.

_"Lucy. Yes… Landon was supposed to come see her…_" The way she spoke, suddenly wary, suddenly different. His intuition flared at the vague scent of a secret.

"Yet you didn't call to find out why he didn't ever show up?"

_"Well…"_ There was a heavy sigh. _"Agent Booth, was it?"_

"Yes, ma'am."

_"I'd like to talk to you in person. It might be hard for you to understand over the phone. If you could see her, maybe, it would be easier. But since I can't… please, try not to judge my brother too harshly."_

Booth asked her to wait just a moment. He set down his receiver and went to his office door, pulling it closed. This was no time to be distracted. On his desk, his cellphone vibrated once, alerting him to a new text message. Probably it was Bones, asking him to come back to the lab so she could show him some new development in the case. Cam would send it in an email in a few minutes anyway, but his partner always liked to show him first herself.

He ignored the text and sat back down. "Okay, Miss White. Tell me about your brother."

_"I don't know if you've spoken to Jaynie, if you know that they were close, but I can tell you there was certainly more going on there than just business partners. I'm not sure what exactly their relationship was, but my brother never dated anyone else after he and Jaynie started their shop. He always said it wasn't because of her, but just because they were so busy he didn't have time… but I know my brother and that just isn't true. Anyway, about ten and a half months ago he flew out here for a visit. He was pretty upset, very out of sorts. I know it was about Jaynie, although he wouldn't tell me what specifically. Poor guy. He was kind of crazy, kept saying there was an old fling he wanted to see here. I guess he found a girl from his graduating class…someone he used to date…"_

"Miss White, that baby, Lucy – she's not yours, is she?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. This was a very interesting turn indeed.

_"No,_" she sighed. _"I haven't been with anyone since I broke up with my fiancé over a year ago. The girl, Carrie, showed up here with Lucy. She was crying, not right in the head, said she didn't want her. She said if I didn't take her, give her to Landon, she was going to drop her in the river. What was I supposed to do?"_

"Did Landon know about his daughter?"

Her voice got small. _"Yes. I told him. I guess that's why he told Jaynie he was coming here to see my baby. He told me he was flying out, but he didn't want to see the baby at all until he found her. Carrie. I thought when he never showed up that he was still looking… or else he'd given up and gone home. I don't think he really wanted Lucy either, or wanted Jaynie to find out about her."_

"Did this Carrie-girl have a father or brother who would have wanted to harm your brother?"

It sounded like air she'd been holding rushed out all at once. _"Yes. Her father. When he found out Landon had gotten her pregnant, he called me spouting all kinds of threats. He asked where Landon was and I told him-," _she gasped sharply. Her voice hitched in pain. _"I told him he'd gone back to DC! Oh, Landon!"_

Booth could hear her breathing quicken and knew she was probably about to dissolve into hysterics. He spoke quickly. "Listen to me, Miss White. You did not get your brother killed, okay? This is not your fault. You got that? This is _not_ your fault. You've got to hang on and be strong for a little while until we get this sorted out, okay? You just hang on to that baby. Take care of her, and we'll take care of the rest. Now, can you tell me Carrie's last name? And also of the her father's name?"

_"Gunnel. Carrie Gunnel. Her father is Mike Gunnel."_

He scribbled the names down. "Thank you. And let me say, Miss White, how truly sorry I am for your loss."

She hesitated a long moment before speaking. _"I'm not sure what I'm going to do with Lucy now. I'm not ready to be a mother, Agent Booth. I was hoping Landon would come around once he saw her…she looks exactly like him…"_

Booth didn't know what to tell her. He felt awkward. Parker was the only baby he'd ever had any experience with, and he was the boy's father. The bond he felt with his son was instant and powerful. Rosie White, however, was just an aunt to this infant. She didn't necessarily feel that connection.

"There are options," he said carefully. "Adoption, for one."

_"No,_" she said suddenly. _"She is all I have left of my brother."_

Well then he didn't know what to say. So instead he decided to end the conversation. "I have to go now, Miss White. I will call you when we know more."

Hanging up, he stared at the piece of paper in his hand containing the two names. His eyes narrowed on the second one. Had Carrie's father, in a fit of rage over Landon abandoning his pregnant daughter, flown to DC and shot Landon shortly after the coffee shop owner beat Lloyd to death?

That didn't seem likely, but he'd seen stranger things. But then there was that business about being dragged… why would Mike Gunnel drag Lloyd off too?

His phone buzzed again. This time a call. "Talk to me Cam," he said quickly.

_"Dr. Brennan wants to know why you aren't here yet. She sent you that text asking you to come over. She's being her persistent (dare I say annoying?) self about it."_

Booth chuckled. "Look, Cam, I'm kind of in the middle of something. Why don't you just tell me whatever it is and I'll let her explain the squinty stuff later, okay?"

_"Okay. Hodgins found a folded piece of paper in the victim's clothing. It seems to be some kind of note. Angela is trying to recover the writing now."_

He sighed. "Fascinating. That's it? That's what she could't wait to show me?"

_"No. Not just that, but also Dr. Brennan and Wendell also found a small nick in one of the ribs. It seems our second victim was stabbed. They are still convinced, however, that the gun shot wound was the ultimate cause of death."_

"Probably stabbed Lloyd Ellman during their fight," replied Booth.

_"We don't know that yet. We don't have either murder weapon so it will be hard to tell."_ Cam's voice was careful. Then she paused a moment. He could hear the small, patient smile in her next words. _"Dr. Brennan is going to be frustrated with me for updating you first. She wanted you to come down to the lab to see for yourself."_

An image of his partner's disapproving frown flashed in his mind and caused him to grin. Yes, she'd probably give Cam one of her hell-freezing looks, but other than that he couldn't imagine she'd retaliate much. "Just tell Bones that I'll be by in a little while to pick her up. That should keep the peace for now."

He snapped the phone shut and glanced again at the paper. It wasn't very likely, but at least it was some kind of lead.

___

A few hours later, he finally returned to the lab to pick up his partner. When he arrived, he was practically accosted by Angela. He was just fishing out his access card to the forensic platform when she spied him and hurried down the steps, her fingers closing around his jacket and jerking him away. Her own unauthorized exit caused the alarms to blare unnecessarily.

"Whoa, geeze, Angela, where's the fire?" he asked, recovering his footing.

She stared at him expectantly. "What did you learn from that guy's sister?"

"What?"

"I finished restoring the note, Booth. It says a lot of stuff in there. What did you learn from his sister?"

He glanced at the security guard swiping his card to make the alarm stop. Cam and Wendell, on the platform, shook their heads and returned to the remains. "Why does it matter?"

"Because if his sister didn't tell you, this note is going to explode your mind." Her eyes grew wide, serious, but they had the tiny glint in them that females often got when they had a particularly juicy bit of information.

He lowered his voice. "Okay, have you shown the note to anyone yet?"

She grinned. He knew. "No, not yet. It only just finished, and I didn't want to show any of them until you got back. So it's true then? What he says about the baby?"

"Show me the note." He didn't know how much she knew, or how much to say, until he saw it. Maybe Landon would talk about any threats he'd received from Carrie Gunnel's father.

Angela spun on her heel and zoomed off towards her office. Booth followed. As he went, he wondered idly why Brennan was not on the platform with Cam and Wendell. Probably in her office, he assumed, analyzing some piece of evidence or perhaps working on her latest book. He wished she'd hurry it up already. It was slow torture, wondering what in the book was so secret she'd quickly snap down her laptop screen every time he walked into the room. He remembered a couple days ago in her apartment- his forfeited opportunity to take a sneak peek. Maybe he should rethink things before missing that chance again.

Angela worked quickly. All her screens displayed case information; an analysis of particulates, a working record of the injuries to the bones, toxins found in their blood. None of it was the note. She'd hid it from view, apparently, and had to access it with a password. She really didn't want anyone seeing this note yet.

Booth scanned it quickly, not really reading all of it but merely checking for information regarding Landon's daughter. Once he had it, he folded his arms over his chest, widened his stance, and nodded. "Okay. I think you need to show the others. This explains a lot. It will convince them they can stop looking for clues in Lloyd Ellman's remains."

"Not likely. But it still doesn't give us the name of the guy who shot Landon," she observed. Her gaze slid over to him. "So it's true? The stuff about his sister and his baby?"

"Yeah, it's true."

"That's so sad." Angela sighed, looking over the note again. "Alright, I'll go get the others."

It took less than five minutes to assemble them. Brennan stood next to Booth but did not greet him. She seemed irked, and he instinctively knew to not address her at the moment. She was annoyed at him, and addressing her might cause a dangerous tangent from their purpose here. "Angela recovered the note. We think you should read it," he explained to Cam, Hodgins, and Wendell.

Angela pulled up the image on her screen again. The letters were poorly written. They writhed on the page like little strikes of ink, penned by a trembling hand. There was a good amount of grime on the paper, presumably from the decomposing organs and flesh. There were also two fingerprints of blood where the paper was gripped. They didn't bother to run them; they'd turn out to be Landon's anyway.

_Dear Jaynie,_ it read.

_I don't know how you'll get this letter, or if you ever will. I only hope that the person who finds my body will give it to you. I know I'm going to die now. I can't stop it. I wont torment you with the details. I only wish I could see you one last time, and tell you everything in person._

_Tonight, I found your cousin in the basement of the shop. He'd broken in and was planning to wait all night so that when you opened in the morning, he could kill you. I went by the shop to get my lisence – remember I left it there? We've both always known how forgetful I can be sometimes. I stopped Lloyd, but I didn't mean to kill him. It just happened. I got angry. He was going to kill you. For money! For meaningless paper! You're worth so much more than all the money in the world –it wasn't right. I couldn't let him do that. He had a knife… _

_ I'm losing blood fast. I'll be too weak to write soon. Already I cannot stand. I've brought Lloyd behind the dumpster and tried to clean up. I only hope you're not the one to find us in the morning. Please tell whoever it is that I'm sorry._

_Jaynie, I need to tell you something. Remember when I went to visit my sister last year. About eleven months ago? It was really sudden. It was after you told me your feelings. I was more upset than I wanted you to see. I went to Colorado… in my blind heartache I made a mistake. I got drunk, and there was this girl… I'm so sorry…_

_ Jaynie, Rosie's baby is not really hers. She's mine. The baby's mother left her with my sister. I didn't even know I got her pregnant. Rosie wants me to take the baby. My daughter. I didn't know what to do… I guess I wont have to know anymore. It doesn't matter now. I thought you should know. I didn't like being dishonest with you. I was going to Colorado to find the girl, but I always intended to come back to you. Always to you._

_ I can't see very well anymore. I feel light-headed. It can't be long now. I'm sorry for killing your cousin, because he is your family, but I am not sorry that you will live now because of it. I wont ask anything of you, Jaynie. I want you to live a free and happy life. My sister will take care of my daughter. I'd like for you to visit her one day, when it seems appropriate, and only if you wish to. Tell her the good things about me, about the kind of man you think I was. _

_ I still meant what I said last year. I love you. I don't mean in the way you wish I meant. I am in love with you, wholly, completely. My heart has always been yours, and my only regret is that you didn't feel the same way. Still, this seems like a pretty fitting last act to me. You will live, and that makes the sacrifice worth it. I'll love you forever and ever, my darling girl._

_ Love, Landon_

There was a heavy silence in the room after Angela was done reading it aloud. A poignant, suffocating silence. Everyone stared at the letter, as if staring long enough could somehow make the lover in the letter rise up again and take his daughter and his friend and make a family.

Nobody wanted to break the stillness.

"I guess we know what happened with that knife mark," murmured Wendell, loosening the mood a little.

Cam glanced at the others. "I wonder how she'll take this letter. That's a lot of pressure… to have someone's love laced into his final act to keep you alive."

Booth turned to his partner. He kept his voice low, solemn. "Bones, we've got to take this to Jaynie Lichter."

Her gaze met his, an unexpected vulnerability betrayed in those clear eyes. "I-I've got to stay," she said uncertainly. "Some time after the victim wrote this letter, someone came back and shot him. It is unlikely he would have died from the knife wound alone, at least not for some time. He might not have bled to death for a while. The wound, while certainly serious, appeared superficial. He might have survived, Booth. Someone shot him, sealed his fate, _murdered_ him. We have to find who did that."

"You will," he said gently. "But right now, we have an equal obligation to this man to deliver this note."

"He died protecting her," whispered Angela. "That is beautiful."

"He was stupid," said Brennan with surprising force, her vulnerability vanishing immediately. "She didn't _ask_ him to protect her, and he certainly didn't have to get himself killed for her. He could have overpowered the first victim and then restrained him until the cops arrived. It was stupid of him to try to be the hero."

They all looked at her with shocked expressions. She bristled defensively at their stares and was about to retort when Angela shushed her. "Sweetie, this is when you're wrong. It's not about being asked, or about being stupid. It's about loving someone so much you can't stand the thought of losing them, or letting any harm come to them."

"When a man is protecting the woman he loves," murmured Booth, "It's easy to lose focus. He can get carried away; he'll do everything he can to ensure the threat to her is completely obliterated, even at the cost of his own life."

She looked at him helplessly. "That's completely illogical," she tried.

"Love isn't about logic, Dr. Brennan." It was Hodgins who spoke this time. He glanced at Angela, who wasn't meeting anyone's gaze. "There is very little logic about it, in fact."

"Well then it has no place in this lab," snapped the anthropologist. Something about this situation was making her feel uncomfortable, which in turn made soured her temper. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot Booth an impatient look. "Didn't you say we needed to go?"

He sighed and motioned for her to leave the office. She exited quickly, her gait clipped.

"What is your problem?" he demanded once they were out of earshot.

"What do you mean?" There was a definite edge to her voice. "You're the one that wanted to go tell Jaynie Lichter about her business partner _now_ instead of later."

She was walking extremely fast. He had to quicken his pace to keep up with her. "That's not what I'm talking about, Bones. I mean back there. Why did you get all snappy on Hodgins like that?"

"Because!" she cried, as if the answer were obvious. "He is a pure scientist. Vague, indefinable ideas such as _love_ do not concern us. He should know better." She spat the word out as if it were a medicine she did not want to take.

He grabbed her arm and gently pulled her to a stop. "He's a human being, okay? A person. Maybe you need reminding, but you are too. _Love_ concerns all of us. It's in our nature. He knows that, he's felt it. Haven't you?"

"Attachment is in our nature," she corrected angrily. "Love is nothing more than a flood of chemicals to our brains telling us to feel euphoric affection. It's an evolutionary trait, to form bonds of attachment so we can reproduce and raise healthy young and further our species."

"No, you're wrong on this one." He was growing irritated. "We're not bears, or dogs, or apes or any of that Darwin stuff. This isn't about biology or evolution, okay? It's about the heart, about feelings."

"_Feelings _are subjective, Booth, and can be manipulated. _Feelings_ change, they can be faked, and they never last. In fact, our brains can trick us into thinking we feel something that we actually don't. To act on that faked feeling would be pure stupidity, don't you agree?"

It was as if she'd struck him. He let go of her arm, a look of pained shock on his face. How could she know? Had he been that obvious? Had he missed all the signs? She knew, and all this time she'd been silently trying to tell him she didn't feel the same way. Just like Sweets, she thought his feelings were a lasting illusion from his operation.

Cruelly, his mind recalled the evening with Parker. The way she laughed with him while washing his hair, the way she spoke to him, the way Pops adored her. And he remembered seeing her with her shirt hanging open, casual, endearing. He remembered the coma dream, the complete happiness of that marriage, and of the idea of their own baby on the way. Now the memories left a bitter taste in his mouth.

She'd given him an odd look at his stricken expression, but resumed walking. He followed, but slower, no longer glad he was working this case. Maybe Cam was right. Maybe he should have run and let Perota take over. It was obvious now why this case hit too close to home. He would give his life for her, but she did not reciprocate.

___

They rode in stony silence.

Of course, Brennan did not exactly know her reasons for being so angry with him, nor why he seemed to shut down after their argument in the lab. She only knew that for a moment, after reading that letter, wild fear streaked through her veins and she didn't want to face it. Instead, she grew defensive. With instincts she did not know she possessed, she understood subconsciously that a very real hurt lurked between the layers of this case. It was only a matter of time until the pain of it struck her. Her response, then, was to try to disown her mind from her feelings. Logic over emotion. She believed it…right?

This time the Corner Coffee was open, and surprisingly busy. Two baristas (neither of whom were the girl who discovered the bodies) worked the counter in an organized frenzy. Jaynie was there too, keeping things flowing at a steady rate. She looked happy. Instead of a pink bow, she had a slightly larger purple one pinned in her blond hair. She laughed easily and dazzled the customers with her natural likeability.

She didn't seem too perturbed anymore that her cousin was dead, and she certainly couldn't know that her close friend was the reason.

Since the bell overhead tinkled, heralding their arrival, Jaynie had known they were there from the moment they walked in. She continued serving customers until there was a slight lag, and then directed the girls to take over.

"Agent Booth! Dr. Brennan. This is a surprise. What can I help you two with this afternoon? Have you come for a warm cup of coffee?" she asked, brushing her hands off on her apron.

"No. We need to talk to you in private," said Brennan quickly.

Jaynie was surprised, glancing quickly at Booth for verification, but he seemed distracted by something. "Okay," she told Brennan. "We can go to the basement. That's where Landon and I keep the supplies – the girls aren't allowed down there. We wont be interrupted."

She spun around and walked back toward the counter.

"Did you remember to get a copy of the note from Angela?" Brennan hissed to Booth as they navigated the busy store.

Booth pulled from his pocket a folded piece of paper. He'd printed it when Angela went to go get the others.

The moment she made a grab for it, he stuffed it back in his pocket. He still hadn't spoken a word since the lab. It made her all the more irritated. They bickered all the time – this very discussion of reason over feelings had come up so many times she couldn't keep track of the number. Why should he be so bent out of shape over this one tiny, brief argument?

Jaynie took them behind the counter and down the steps to the basement. It smelled like earth and coffee. It was obvious why, since there was no floor to speak of except dirt. The walls were brick, making it feel more like a cellar. The air was cool, comfortable.

This was where Landon had found Lloyd and killed him. It wouldn't be hard to hide the blood if he just spread the dirt a little. It was a grim thought.

Once there, Jaynie spun around and faced them. She gave them a little smile. "So? What's the big secret?"

"You seem to have recovered from the shock of finding out your cousin was killed," remarked Booth.

The girl didn't seem to like this comment. She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is it the FBI's job to tell me how I grieve now? Do I regret Lloyd died? Sure, but as far as I'm concerned he was basically a stranger. There was never any love lost between us. I regret it, but I'm not about to crumple up in fetal position and cry my eyes out for days."

"I'm sorry, Miss Lichter," sighed the agent. "I didn't mean to question your mourning. It's just… well we have some other bad news."

Her mouth fell slightly slack and she looked at Brennan for some kind of explanation. "Sheesh, you're going to condition me to hate the sight of you. Do you ever bring people good news?"

"That's not really the nature of our work." Brennan felt as if she should apologize, though she knew she'd done nothing wrong.

"No kidding," muttered Jaynie. She sat down on a stack of coffee sacks. "So your bad news? Is it Patrick now too? Open season on my drug-soaked cousins?"

Even when she was being a little snippy, there was something kind of endearing in her irritation. It was easy to see how Landon, or any other man, could quickly fall in love with a girl like her.

"Can I ask you a couple questions about your business partner?" asked Booth.

Her shocking blue eyes narrowed. "You're not seriously thinking he's the murderer, right? I told you already, Landon could not kill Lloyd."

For the first time since back at the lab, Brennan and Booth glanced at one another. Booth immediately looked away again, a dull ache throbbing to life again. He withdrew the note.

"There's something you should read," said Brennan as her partner offered the letter. "We've identified the second victim…"

Jaynie froze, the bitter smirk fading from her face. She looked with dread at the paper in Booth's hand. Whatever it contained, she knew she did not want to read it. Still, without her approval, her fingers closed around the note and pulled it into her.

"Who is it?" she whispered.

"The note will explain everything," said Booth.

She pulled it open and began to read. Brennan, meanwhile glanced sideways at Booth. This felt wrong. They were about to destroy this girl's day, and much, much more. She would not be the same Jaynie after reading that letter. Her entire world was about to shift.

It didn't take long. Neither of them were sure exactly how many minutes passed, but it didn't seem enough. How long should it take to pulverize a heart? While she read the letter, Jaynie's hand flew to her mouth and tears sprung to her eyes. She began to shake from head to toe, and after she'd read it a second time, it fluttered from her hand to the ground.

She swayed dangerously on the sacks and both Booth and Brennan lurched forward to stop her from falling. She latched on to Brennan's hands, beginning to cry in earnest now.

Brennan felt helpless. She moved to sit next to her, not sure how to soothe the pain Jaynie had to be experiencing. It seemed a warm human touch was what she needed, because the coffee-house girl turned to Brennan and lay her head against her shoulder, whispering Landon's name while shuddering sobs took her.

Despite how wounded by her comment he'd been earlier, Booth found he could not look away from his partner now. She had wrapped her arm around Jaynie and was comforting her in a way he'd never seen. Her expression was anxious and concerned. She didn't look like the defiant scientist who didn't believe in love. Right now, she looked like a woman wishing she could stop the breaking of a human heart.

"I lied to him," Jaynie groaned through her tears. "Why did I lie?"

"Lied to Landon?" Brennan asked quietly.

Jaynie sat up, wiping at her face. She wasn't recovered, but it seemed she wanted to pull herself together. It was a noble, but feeble endeavor. "Yes. Last year… it was the reason he went to visit his sister. It was the reason he now has a daughter."

"He told you he loved you," Booth heard himself say. "But you rejected him."

"Yes." Her voice was small. "He asked me if I loved him too. If I even felt anything at all. I lied. I said no."

Booth couldn't help it. He looked at Brennan, to see her reaction. His partner was watching her intently, hungrily. "Why?" she asked.

"Because I was afraid." Jaynie hid her face in her hands, whether from shame or grief they didn't know. "I didn't want him to love me. I didn't want to love him. I didn't want to want a relationship! That would complicate things. We had such a close friendship. Relationships don't work out, they never work out. They can't last. When ours fell apart, I was sure our business and our friendship would too. My parents, my parents got divorced when I was nine. I never learned how to maintain a successful relationship from them. It's my curse as a child of divorce that my relationships will never work out. I couldn't do that to us. I couldn't let his confession ruin everything we had. I was so afraid. I had to hide the truth from him. But I loved him, I did." She dissolved into tears again, her shoulders racked with the force of her grief.

Brennan's heart began beating quickly, made anxious by the things Jaynie said. The words landed with significant weight for the forensic anthropologist. She didn't want to think about them, didn't want to think about their meaning, but that was impossible. The idea of the roles being reversed, of her being in Jaynie's place and losing her partner, it made her want to rush into Booth's familiar embrace and shut out all the horror she felt at such a thing. It was the worst situation come true.

"He loved you," Booth assured Jaynie quietly. "However hurt he was by your rejection, he never stopped loving you."

"I wish I would have told him," she replied. "I'll always regret that lie now."

Brennan hesitated to speak, since she knew the words she wanted to say probably wouldn't sound very sensitive. "It may not have made a difference. He may still have given his life to save you from your cousin. And then you would still be in this position today."

"But at least we could have been blissfully happy for a little while." She didn't seem upset or offended by Brennan's honesty. It was probably true anyway. "He was everything I ever wanted."

"Do you know of anyone who would want him killed?" Booth asked. She probably wasn't up for questioning, but he wanted to escape, and he couldn't do that until he'd gotten the information he wanted. "Did you ever get any threatening calls here at the shop about Landon?"

"I thought Lloyd killed him," she said darkly, indicating the letter that was on the ground. "Stabbed him. What do threatening calls have to do with anything?"

"He may have survived that," Brennan explained gently. "Someone ultimately shot him. That person is still at large."

Jaynie stifled a responding groan and buried her face in her hands again. "Yes," she replied in a trembling soprano voice. "He got threatening calls from a number in Colorado. The guy wouldn't tell me his name or why he needed to talk to Landon, but he kept threatening to harm him. I told Landon, but he told me not to worry."

Booth frowned. He did not really think Mike Gunnel was the likeliest suspect here. Still, when he called the house a woman answered and said he was out of town and had been for quite some time. Maybe he was here. "Miss Lichter, do you have anyone we can call for you? Your father, a friend, maybe?"

"Don't call my father," she said, her head jerking up. "If he finds out Landon killed Lloyd…"

Again, the partners exchanged a glance. Booth slid his hands into his pockets. "Your cousin was going to kill you. Your father wouldn't be grateful to Landon for stopping him?"

"Of course he would, mostly," she replied. "But Lloyd and Patrick are my father's nephews. Family blood means everything to him. Landon wasn't family. He wont understand why Landon had to kill him, why he couldn't just knock him out and call the cops. He'll be angry, furious. I don't want Landon's memory tainted."

Brennan knew Booth would do what he did best with that information, and that they were going to go talk to Mr. Lichter very soon. For now, however, they still had this broken girl to soothe. "We wont call your father, but is there someone else?"

She shuddered. "Actually, I think I'd just like to stay here. This was our shop, basically our home. Down here was where he told me he loved me."

Between the words she said, Booth heard another message. _I'd like to be alone now._ So he caught his partner's eye and turned slightly, tilting his head to indicate they should go. She understood.

"Miss Licther… Jaynie… please, please call us if you need anything, or can think of anything that might help us catch Landon's murderer." Brennan gave the other girl's hand a quick squeeze.

She looked up through long, wet lashes and nodded. "Thank you," she murmured. She picked up the note again. "Thank you for bringing this to me."

They left the shop significantly subdued. The animosity between them was dissolved, but the feeling that replaced it was not any easier to contain. Each of them struggled with their burdensome new knowledge- the reminder that life was fleeting, and that regret was worse than fear.

___

They went to the diner, since the sun was starting to dip low in the sky and neither of them had eaten much throughout the day. Honestly, neither one really had much of an appetite, but they didn't really know what else to do. Both were uncharacteristically quiet as they sat waiting for their food.

Booth was silently boiling with conflicting emotions. He felt completely unsure of himself, which was not a familiar or pleasant feeling. On the one hand, having seen Jaynie's terrible regret at never admitting her feelings, he wanted to burst out his secret – wanted to tell Bones everything he was trying to hide from her. He didn't want to waste one moment of her not knowing. But on the other hand, the words stuck in his throat and would not rise. They were blocked by the bitter reminder that she didn't want to hear them. She'd made that very clear this afternoon.

"Booth," she said quietly, drawing him out of his unhappy thoughts.

He glanced across the table at her. Her expression was troubled. "Yeah, Bones?"

"Do you think she was right? About it being better to have told him, even if the outcome were the same? I would think that would be worse."

"What do you mean?"

She shifted in her seat, her gaze dropping to her hands. She looked puzzled and uncertain. "I mean wouldn't it hurt more to lose someone when you're both happy and in love, than if you aren't?"

Oh, what he wouldn't give to know what was going on inside that brilliant mind of hers. It took a huge amount of effort to resist reaching out to take her hands. "But that's the thing, Bones, she loved him anyway. Just because she lied and told him she didn't doesn't mean the hurt is any less now. She loved him, so the fact that he is gone still leaves the same huge hole in her heart."

"There isn't really a hole in her heart," Brennan pointed out quietly. "That would be fatal."

"Maybe not physically, but it sure feels like it. Jaynie is right. It would have been better if she had told him the truth all those months ago. They could have at least had a little while being perfectly happy, instead of all this regret."

"But what about her reasoning for lying in the first place?" she persisted, trying to find some reason to continue holding on to her belief system. This case, this girl, they were all shaking her paradigm and it left her feeling confused. She needed to be reassured that what she was doing was right. "Let's posit this scenario: She doesn't lie, she tells him of her affection. They become a couple. Lloyd never comes for her, and Landon doesn't die saving her. What then? Their relationship can't last forever, she said so herself. Eventually, one of them will end up being unfaithful. _Or_ the relationship may become stale and one or both of them will want out. She had very good reasons for not wanting to enter into that kind of relationship. They had too much at stake."

Booth had the impression that by the end of her theory, they weren't talking only about Jaynie's situation anymore. "Not all relationships have to fail, Bones. What if we took your scenario and instead of saying they wanted out, we pose the theory that they were really happy together. Sure, they argue or have rough patches, as all couples do, but they are able to work through them. Let's take this couple and project them ten, twenty, thirty years into the future. Now they've grown old together – shared a lifetime of happiness. Doesn't that seem worth a little risk that you might get hurt?"

Here, Brennan had to pause in her thoughts. A peculiar sensation swept through her. It was a similar feeling to the one she often got when she stumbled across uncharted scientific or anthropological territories. The scenario he offered was one she had no way of comprehending. Nothing in her experiences had ever taught her about a life-long relationship. Everything was fleeting, temporary. Only the past remained the same. What he proposed was contemplating a future she could not imagine.

And yet, somewhere inside she felt warmth at the idea. A couple who stayed together. Never a proponent for monogamy, it was odd and strangely pleasant to think of being with one person into old age.

And of course, there was the feeling that she already knew all this. Maybe not about growing old, she honestly hadn't considered that before, but the part about risks. Her fingers had typed the very words, her voice had given them life in that quiet hospital room. Loving someone was a risk. She already knew that. Sometimes, loving someone _was_ _worth_ the risk. She knew that too, or suspected it anyway.

"I admit that while statistically improbable, I like your scenario better," she admitted with a sigh.

"People _can_ be together forever, Bones. So your statistics can take a hike." He grabbed his drink and sipped, to stifle the urge to bring up the earlier conversation about feelings being all in the head. She seemed to be changing her tune a bit right now. Asking these questions… it almost made it sounds like she was a real human who felt emotions too, instead of some logic-governed Vulcan. But of course, _that_ was blasphemy.

"Not forever," she corrected automatically, a very small grin twitching at the corner of her lovely mouth.

* * *

_{I debated whether or not to end it here, but I want you hanging around for the next few chapters so I might as well not give too much away yet. You can certainly guess where this is all going, I imagine. ;) It might not be so smooth sailing though. And we're certainly not done with miss Jaynie, who I am coming to love more than I ever anticipated. Anyways, your reviews give me the fuel I need, so please let me know what you think.  
PS- We are one month into the winter hiatus! Halfway done! 8D}_


	8. Explanation

_Hello out there to any of you who might even still care about this stale old story. I'm terribly sorry for leaving it off so abruptly as I did. I hate unfinished fics as much as you do so I'm mortified that I let myself do the same thing._

_I wanted to know how many of you are still interested in seeing this story finished? Do you care anymore? I have other stories I could write, other things I could publish, so if you don't particularly care to see this one done I might just move on._

_Or, if you want, I can finish it._

_Here's the deal though – I fleshed out the next several chapters last year before the hiatus was done, and actually finished most of it. I hadn't uploaded them yet (too busy) when we then had the infamous 100th episode. While I like the episode, it totally killed my mojo. Some of the things that were said in the actual episode were so excruciatingly similar to my chapters I knew I could no longer upload them without sounding a lot like a copycat. And after that, I just lost my motivation to continue with it entire._

_So if I continue, I'll probably have to rewrite the remaining chapters so I don't look like a lazy bum who stole text write out of the script. I've gone back and read through the story and read your wonderful reviews and got interested in coming back to finish it, but I wanted to know what all of you though (if there are even any of you left out there.)_

_Or I can just move on and publish some of the stuff I've written the meantime._

_{Edit.} Ah, you guys are so wonderful! :) Alright, I am re-invigorated. I will continue! I will definitely change some things in later chapters, but I wont rewrite all of it. You are all awesome. I'll hopefully have it finished up speedy quick for you!_


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